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56 lines
1.9 KiB
Text
56 lines
1.9 KiB
Text
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watershed
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2020-01-01
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***
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before, in your grief, you proclaim
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"I have yearned for all, and yet the world stays the same"
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just remember how you swore off eternal fame
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dear Coleridge, insistent that the crowds were in the wrong
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for not cherishing the pains he put into every song
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"damn it all!" he said, and turned his back to the throng
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but in the throes of midnight, you turn your eyes to the sky
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to cotton ball clouds you imagine the stars hide behind
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fervent prayers to Nyx between fatigue-laced sighs
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petition to pass into the world of the beyond
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very little with which you care to abscond
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"I've ascended the mountain; I've claimed the crown;
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now grant me sweet rest and let my fire burn down."
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the world shifts, and you find yourself prostrate to the throne
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of the goddess of flowers you can't claim as your own
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and in her hands is a circle, a mirror of glass
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like the one which shattered and brought with it lovers past
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and like the one who told you to say wolf
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her rough hands lift it so you can behold
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a forehead laced with pearly crocheted veil of sweat
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bogged down with weight of memory, pain of regret
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horrified, you recoil from the mirror and cry
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"oh gods, spare me the horrors of the mind!"
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so mindless you wander: retarded you find
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that the rest of the world has left you behind
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now, granted, this is but mere parable
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far from fitting fate for one so gentle
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but Saint Sakura stares at the family altar
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and wonders what day everything started to falter
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a mind languishing in the gentlest of hells to behold
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an intellectual wasteland where minds go to fold
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like a house of cards, once great empire crashing in
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and leaving oneself trembling in fear of uncertain sin
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dear child, please know that you're far from a flop
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but your course is charted; you've come too far to stop
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greatness now tangible, taken shape and form
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your choice: to snatch it, or shrink back and mourn?
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***
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CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander
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