Muse, Or So

The seer in me enter shards come,
the darkness of an abyssal forest
ran with empty fingers that once
love had worn.  The leaves that
fed and gaunt chainmale hands
wore of temptation’s red, my dry
hair tossed and my corpse spent,
empty lyre of silver sinned strings
that still played vibration’s silences,
a dancing chaos of uncreation made.

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