Oh, the thinly-stried strings
bound relentless
Full of endings
lapse to nothings
In a glow highlighting woe
like the flush of scars
these straightwit beams
Brew here from afar
Cut, they do, from the medium of shadow
A dance of tired shapes
and softening tallow
Earth turns with reluctant rate
weaving orange
like a heart of burdened fate
Swathes of flame
glaze the tides at sunset
and the tide flows out
to silence, for once, this upset
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