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The Clockwork Madrigal

**For the Edgar Allan Poe ala The Raven contest**

Dreaming murmur,
as weary volumes
wrought open, whispered,
once forgotten chamber doors
from a stir of words—purple
the tongue silken hours

Souls always gather
like an echo's tongues,
where Lenore lay dying...

For centuries,
minutes like embers—
seconds burning
a demons harvest
for a glimpse
into and
beyond this world
and the scars
of nevermore.

The floor is weak
where ghosts
don once mortal shades,
restless
murmured the sunset
whispering names,
ebony-black words
beckoning us e'er
unto Mother Night.

Uley
Written by Uley-Bone
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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