literature

Silk

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Literature Text

Dewdrops of lone, poisoned shadows,
Silent in the far iron seas,
A garden of whispers
Of long sleep yet to dawn
Is forgotten except by the webs.

Only the spider seems to move,
Tracing what some might call tears
For eyes long darkened by the chill.

She keeps aurora in lanterns
Should they learn one day to sing,
And when candles embrace the dead
They'll hear a lullaby.

Where are the traces of lovers,
She once called the eclipse?
And in the fountains all of the petals
Have become, carefully woven,
Silk pain in stone.

Graceful, attending the silence
But in her maze something yet weeps,
Something long broken, a parting unspoken
That haunts and cannot be found.

Branches sway with the burden
Of her treasures kissed by a sting.
And prayers so fragile in voids
Where she feasts of all eyes
She weaves into her company.

Your eyes are weary my dear,
Hear me speak then.
My voice is the ghost
Of specters denied their flight.

I cannot sing thee to rest.
But I will dare kiss the far shore,
And in that place of all woe
I shall find a chord.
© 2016 - 2024 MartenHoyle
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