distant abstract

come dusk and fond recall, nearer distant abstract called, far from fragrant songs of old, paradigms our ghosts still hold, up with all we bear within, ahh the paradox of sin, it marks us all in stagnant time, e'er grasping at sublime, it's we who choose and chose before, scraping at eterna's door, brought fire unto fated head, not our sense of self instead, ideas wander far and out, within here and then without, they bear our truest hearts, if only at the tender start...