Babble: A Poem

Then tearlets returned

To the eye of the soul-broken.

It was a crystalline coup,

A stormy feat, the empirical heist

Of a golden century.

 

And then we danced along

On a path of books and dust

With our untimely deaths

Trailing behind us

On the gilded spokes of

Three broken crowns.

 

Cold smoke and glossy mirrors.

Burning tapestries and woven flames.

A cavernous time, of gaping glee

Running downhill, windswept

Into the midnight aerie.

 

Yet is it hard to believe

That once was a time

Where we wild swans

Struck by the light of moon

Never night, never might

Be afraid to give you the sun.

 

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