On a kindred and fiery day,


On a kindred and fiery day,
the sun gleamed,
                as is casually and usually said,
     upon its festering windowpanes
           slowly exhumed a body of existing glimmering warmth
                     and moments of passing candor,
      rustically mistaken
                 and obscurely grandmothering
                      broken foreloren homes
       long since lost
                      and sufficed with a fist
         and then seldom trouved
                         and asked to think about itself
                ah, but then does find itself
        shining, kindred and fiery,
                   as the sun always does
                         with Time
          and a million slowly breathing moments
                    glimmering with passing
                            romantic novelties and identities
                 capriciously strewn about
           with thoughts
                        and lofty
                                 it reaps
                  those who dare think
                                      about the sun
                             than thine own life.

What do you think? Criticisms and praise welcome.

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