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Literature Text
from the outside world, a sound
sound of dew on the fresh soil
of a new grave where I dance,
masked and mourning
mint and the chocolate aroma
of cigars rises from the earth
in arabesque wisps of fog;
a summoning.
moths circle in the gridelan dawn;
spill from the air into my hands,
make their return to the grey haze
at my feet
-almost like the soul, begging
to return to its wasted vessel
as the moon digests its secrets;
and my own.
the air, soft with fragility drifts
away into the marsh where
will-o'-the-wisps play, lead
lost souls astray
into a snare of black heart clovers
and twining fingers of miasma
phosphorescent entities waxing
from fathoms deep.
sound of dew on the fresh soil
of a new grave where I dance,
masked and mourning
mint and the chocolate aroma
of cigars rises from the earth
in arabesque wisps of fog;
a summoning.
moths circle in the gridelan dawn;
spill from the air into my hands,
make their return to the grey haze
at my feet
-almost like the soul, begging
to return to its wasted vessel
as the moon digests its secrets;
and my own.
the air, soft with fragility drifts
away into the marsh where
will-o'-the-wisps play, lead
lost souls astray
into a snare of black heart clovers
and twining fingers of miasma
phosphorescent entities waxing
from fathoms deep.
composed for ext. english short story... amongst other things, haha
© 2005 - 2024 turiya
Comments6
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Wow, this was my first Favorite ever.
Classico!
Classico!