She dreams of high, white towers in which hung
colorful tapestries of silk…
Upon which spun all her heart’s promised desires.
When the stars sit fat across the skies chilling pitch;
Before her vanity she lingers; with golden ribbons
spun about her gleaming tresses…
The silver brush passes for the hundredth time;
while she swims pools of lonely green.
In solitude he labors; dressed in sweat and soot,
His shoulders strain when the heavy headed hammer is spun…
Sparks fly in dance as steel meets ringing steel;
In singing glory…
Yet to come.
Heated bath is swiftly released;
as life’s ignoble blood seeps into the cold tundra…
Hands shake in struggled effort; to hold onto a life
Lids shut upon a world aflame.
A beaten wing; a lone feather of night falls,
and the bird takes to wing…
Above a world which spins on in oblivion.
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