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Brisk cold ballads Emerge from the tranquil dark From the mourning silhouette That’s stirs and toils in silence Melodies resurface And tenderly reflect Upon the vast and sullen shade The grey of former years Bitterly and brash They pierce the veil of skin Past labyrinthine flesh To streams of boiling anguish Behind solace The eerie…
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More than I’ll ever need Far more than I can sustain She’s evaded the iron clasp of my youth The trove of sweet-nothings I’ve toiled over in secret Each moment I delve That trails on endlessly Far out of reach In an ominous refrain Of how, where and when I empty the troves Hastily, bereft…
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I resurface unhinged From the frigid binds of regret The surreal twirl of remorse That plagues every moment of rest Well before The day’s primal glimmer Where the headlights flare Upon the frost-tinted windows I’ve arrived With nerves set a quiver Awakened by the scourge Of pitiless dark As the flash and flare Carefully graze…
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How far must I journey Through the careless spiral of years Until I bear, but skin and bone? Until a stern chill Conquers my powdery remnants? When nothing more is uttered In the flawless sheen of eternity Defer, full and content Unscathed, untroubled By a clean and painless escape The offerings I reap Are but…
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Celestial heirlooms Are a faithful glimmer Far from the havoc Of our careless reach The nightly ghouls Fixed in time Peer stoically From the cold refuge of dark I fawn hopelessly Driven mad with hunger For the extent of their majesty To cleave a romance Known by too few Soaring without effort Untouched and drained…
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The scowl of nightmares Paint a mural of havoc Across desolate ceilings That mirror inner panic They expand from above Scaling down in streams of black Growing in fortitude As they drown The flicker of windowpanes From running streaks They conspire to coil To ensnare my rest To strangle my passionate resolve The pulse of…
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Life and times Of the starved and striving Earnest fools Who deplore the art of thriving They care not For the honest fields The finely tuned pastures And the promise they yield From upturned squalor They stalk the opportune Propelled by high hopes And a proud, joyous tune Life and times Of the boastful and…