I seem to be
Bequeathed by grief
Under the heaviest clouds
That drain my rain to fall down
Freely from my open eyes.
As my feet are parted,
My shoulders are slack,
Among the world around
Where tiles shift into disproportions,
As sunlight turns into moonlight,
As flame turns into burning cold,
As watchful gazes turn into scornful accosting.
As the world finds its worship
Within the skies,
All the tears for me, the witness
Are merely there to see me undressed
To the cold, to the frozen boughs
Hanging lights from every tree,
While finding everything in the nothingness,
As I find darkness in the light,
For when the storm breaks,
I wish it would melt me, again.
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