Суббота, 17.08.2019, 18:49
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    you cry
    Your tears paint rivers on this oaken wall...
    Amber nectar, misery ichor
    ...cascading in streams of hallowed form
    For each stain, a forsaken shadow
    You are the lugubrious spirit
    Etched in the oak of wonder
    You are the sullen voice and silent storm
    Each night I lay
    Awakened by her shivering silent voice
    From the shapes in the corridor walls.
    It pierces the solitude like that of a distant scream
    In the pitch-black forest of my delusion...
    With each passing day, a deeper grave...
    "Why did you leave me to die?"
    "Why did you abandon me?"
    "Why did you walk away and leave me bitterly yearning?"
    Her haunting, contorted despair was etched into the wood's grain
    Though fire rages within me, no fire burns fiercer than her desire
    The shape whispers my name...
    I damn this oak!
    I damn her sorrow!
    I damn these oaken corridors
    That bear the ghosts of those I've thrown away!
    Though tempted I am to caress her texture divine
    And taste her pain sweet, sweet like brandy wine;
    I must burn these halls, these corridors
    And silence her shrill, tormenting voice
    ...forever...
    Like snowfall, you cried a silent storm
    No tears stain this dust in my hands
    But from this ashen gray, her voice still
    Whispers my name...
    You were the lugubrious spirit
    Who haunted the oak of wonder
    You were the geist that warned this frozen silent storm
    You were but a ghost in my arms
    /////
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