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Your Majesty of Tears
The spirit of the mirror
feeds these years in blood
it dries quickly,
marking the place
where blue skies wither
and brittle corn sighs dust
In search of your rose
I worry ghosts
drawn like a bee
past bludgeon of murdering clock
wing torn weary
and beating a fool's tune
the shock of bitter tongue
blind to thorns of the heart
Your reflection
was always a dream
from a place I dared not look
the cruelest truth
ruling love imperfect--
your majesty of tears
But once
away on the mountain
gnawing earth alone with the crows
there for a moment
I felt certain
though we never got to dance
I almost glimpsed
a perfect smile
from your soul
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