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Opacarophile

Art does not need me
Like gold Sun to green Earth
Or a man on a hill
Choosing to admire the sunset
 
Art is the chieftain
Of muses systems birth
Into our arms, in till
Fleeting our taut grasp yet endless
 
Art demands worship
Like numens of time's worth
Art is the crimson twill
Salving blighted spikes in our veins.
Written by Fishmander
Published
Author's Note
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