AND NOW, IT'S GONE

Tempered now, tears slid down, a steaming mist.
The milieu, opaqued, meant nothing. Nothing at all.
A thing to be cherished, shared, enjoyed, at once struck
such a terrible score
Utter dismay, deep and desolate, questing of its own esoteric nature
toward some endpoint
Yet it fails. We fail.
The repeating nature of man ensures this.
Seraphic deliverance is sometime within, yet so often,
without.
Perhaps, the mist is preferable