Serenity, beckoning in the realm of closed eyes, blind and shy
As reality turns to tear away her grace, the child of a forlorn sight
Trembling I stumble to stand, looking at a figment of my mind
Amber eyed, curly locks of silk that dances within the light
Is it loneliness, illusions, perhaps the solitude of a doomed man?
Taken to hide behind the wool of sheets, ink and black sticks
Wavering on the cliff wondering on the depth of existence
Yet crystal clear is her voice, telling me not to take the plunge
Whereas I, lost in my stand tipping upon the edge, beckoning
The grime of shadows in all the sins that I have come to forget
*
I see my blood drip on the stead of sand in the hourglass
Closer and closer I begin to lose my grip, knuckles bone white
Thumbscrews piercing the depths of my heart, senses excruciating
And a moment upon her essence, bearing a fragrance of her breath
There I slip from the courteous audacity of the ticking hand itself
Dusty brown and black of haze to break the strain of the conscious
Or club my wits reckoning to break the glass and so to sleep forever
Condemned to claw the air grasping at the mere ghost of a woman
Praying to eight hands of divinity each clutching my kindred crimes
I stand far from reach, a mirror in between and her on the other side
*
There is no search of the lands I lost without her hand in mine
And there be no glory in my words if not whispered into her ears
Meager are the days I live cursing the solemn mind not to pass
And I know that the reapers blade edges near upon my throat
Eyes closed but peering at the steps of a nymph-like smiling angel
Toying with a heart forged as the clash of razor edged steel
Broken shards of the sinister arm, a blind man instead of the shield
Losing my sanity as my eyes agonize upon the seven shines of blight
My serenity is within her, and far is the plane upon which she stands
Be it a babbling fool left of me, dreaming of the child of a forlorn sight
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Raw
Catch the cobwebs of the closing mage
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