Beings
The tree is today a year older, and while
It shakes its leaves in the autumn wind,
From the ethereal dance beyond time,
The saints create a bridge to the earth.
The sky is shaking, for it is ripe.
The rustle of stars is growing louder.
In a whirl of light and radiance,
The spectacle of death is about to start.
Scattered beings emerge from the grave,
Throwing themselves into waves of air.
Young spirits float towards the sky
In a twilight of shadows and blood.
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