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Image for the poem The Cryptic Language of Lights

The Cryptic Language of Lights

Lights speak, funerary rights,
a surface of nights,

[frozen and thawed
like
a

see – saw].

Sometimes the lights make you see what you saw.

Sometimes you
were
frozen. Sometimes you thaw.  Sometimes I drift into the incision of the vision.
Written by Cipher_O (WarlordoftheWrittenWord)
Published
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