From Freedom's Lips.

The sweet aroma of twilight
coils within the smoke and the rain,
filling my lungs with nostalgia.
We were young, but we were wise,
and the austerity that filled our eyes
beguiled the moments
and set itself beside the sun.
We stood still with time,
we stood
stealing words of those fragile minds
plucking every apple from Eden's limbs.
We were ancient, but we were exuberant
and we felt the glass panes slipping
under our uncertain fingers.
And I believed we were Angels, once;
when alms did not come in the form of
children shooting children;
when their trusts rippled
as our wings touched the moon's surface.
We remembered when they were human.
Yet now we can recall nothing more --
save the sweet aroma of twilight
coiled within the smoke and the rain;
the breath from freedom's lips.