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Showing posts from March, 2024
Introspection
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The rope around my neck was my reflection,
Like a noose tied by ghostly hands,
Cast back at me by each shard of the mirror.
Shattering the glass hadn't hidden anything,
Nor had it freed the mnemonic slaves within.
Instead, countless eyes peered back at me,
Stained with their own shades of recollection.
Eyes that wept in their lament and blazed in their scorn,
Dulled in their contrition and hollowed out in their hopelessness,
Narrowed in judgement and withheld their pardon.
These eyes were my own,
And suspended there before them I wondered,
Why it was that they hated me.
It never occurred to me,
As I swayed there in their company,
That I hated them, too.
An ode to Bladesmiths
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This ode sing I to the Guillotine,
On the block my neck to rest.
This ode sing I to the blade, pristine,
From body my head to wrest.
On the block my neck to rest.
This ode sing I to the blade, pristine,
From body my head to wrest.
This ode sing I to the Headsman,
His heartless task Borne true.
This ode sing I to the Scaffold,
And it’s final somber view.
This ode sing I to the Crimson Veil,
Drawn down as I fall blind.
This ode sing I to the Ghastly Pail,
Its grizzly prize to find.
This ode sing I for my heart's final beat,
Its fervor yielding to repose.
This ode sing I as my Veins deplete,
Ichor blooming thereabout as the rose.
Why then Should I sing this ode,
Not of my love, but of the blade?
For the blade has done as its duty bade,
Yet by my love was that duty conveyed.