In Sight

We share our boredom in pensive, modern rituals,
Twirling and twisting our chosen fates,
But we do fear our deafening self-doubts
Following the path of regained virtues
With nothing more dominant
than faith to ponder. Restored,
like a vitally fluid motto,
crawling on an average size note,
A gratifying quintessence
Would grant us both a feeling of upmost palpability.
On the stage - the permanence of an obscure, viral sphere,
Once again gets amputated in dim light;   
The loss of any mental chord targets the newly visible pores
To a more deliberate flight.
A stream of consciousness is waiting in queue
for the randomly evicted slices of wows 
to pay a missing wanderer’s dues.
We are consumers of outstanding affection
Via the simultaneously mourning routes;
Our ultimate judgments hide  inside tangent kisses
and infinite infamy overwhelmed by quarter-solitudes.
Crossing the Hades with no exposed heels
Reminds me of a chromatic aberration rule.
The blue of an overheard serenade, a brand new mood,
going to be ignored then scattered away
Outside the wasted chronology of blame.

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