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Poetry Der Schmiedelehrling

December Flower

Bluelighter
Joined
Oct 22, 2020
Messages
3,813
Susceptible spectacles,
I'm sceptical, it stings when I wear them

Scarce the thought remains in the spectre's sensational sin
I scatter the shards on a platter, then gather them, fall again

I am impressed as I assess the assets of my own assassination
A station in the revelling nation I call calculator, facing the face of fate,
and far, if not a day too late

It's dark again, spectre's critters tackle my senses, stack the shards
The ticking lullaby counts in the darkness, I confess,
there's not much to do when it's all in your head.

I put on the glasses, as I'm sure I would suffocate,
information trickling down the hazardous highway.
Yet at the corner of my eye, the spectre remains,
one last thought to leave what was gained

It's light, and I can see, just a dream but full of dread,
instead, I stand and there remain in thinking shackles
I'm still there, and the clock is still singing my lullaby
There's no smiling on the busride through time
 
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