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TRESS OF THE WILLOW TREE

 
Menacing is the coil of man
Whispers fill the ears of pariahs
Toiling with weathered hands
When the fields are looking drier
Held fast to the upbringing
Grand collapse of the skies
Singing of the death of Spring
The stirring of the flies
 
   
Held the notion of what's to come
Desire made them vulnerable
Retired hour, traces undone
Might be waiting for the exodus
Conference of the parting ways
A jest made of the revelation
When one could breathe an ember
Faces became ghosts from oblivion
   
 
My veins filled with martyr's blood
A semblance of the damned
More of sorrow than of anything
Reanimation of past intents
   
 
The only road
Leading to nowhere
Is the road I take
The ailment grows
Weeping for the air
In this stolen face
   
 
Saved the first caress
Now the mirror fades
When I dance with death
When the image stays
Drastic change to knowing
Eyes like tempered steel
Stabbing at my sanity
You were my shattered heel
   
 
A lone candle lit the archway
Resembling that pain I felt
The loneliness of yesterday
The loss that I was dealt
   
 
Moth-like gaze into the fire
Flickering above the mire
Held my shadow in applause
Upon incongruous walls
Nearest to this empathy
That flying touch of distance
Left a scar upon it's womb
Today was it's glowing tomb
   
 
Let me mourn
Let me scorn
Detached from all that I'd ever need
Too vague to see
A memory
Abandoned you behind the aura of my flaws
Carried out the exaltation
Intertwined until the fraying
Dis-communication
Longing not for what's decaying
Let me go
Let me sow
To plant my wicked seeds into your brain
Fixated on
A melody
Sentiment's no use to me in the chasm of your cause
   
 
Gnawing at sympathy
Festering in still water
The tension feeds you
It's faith that heals you
Never a moment to collapse
When you hear the voices pass
Clearing a way through travesty
Roam inside the sickness in me
   
 
I lie beneath the tress of a willow tree
As absent friends became a wreath to my need
Like a rose in full bloom, yet I'm never free
Foul nectar seeping from the fruit of my deed
   
 
Staying under the guise of a ridden dust
Believing in the lies that would then appear
Painted a portrait of my misgiven trust
Turned red like rust, my face as I bled a tear
   
 
But never more to dwell in this evocation
The curtains of my mind drew now to a close
When the last prevailing thought found fruition
I buried myself here and never I rose
   
 
Still beneath the soil
Still with blank expression
Still eyes were loyal
Still long for inception
Written by UbiquitousVoid (. . . . . . . . .)
Published | Edited 17th Oct 2016
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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