End Game
End Game
Daylight, collected by ancient violins
Breaks a cadaverous rhythm
From dreams of a crashing heart
And all encumbered the features of its crag
Rages pitiful
It is a sigh, which leaves the unsleeping cushion
To bury knuckles in tired eyes
Daylight
With the auspices of its vendetta hanging cryptic
In riddled made promises
By the sun catches
Nothing
The mirror in its jaundice of coffee, continues
And stares melancholy from its own reflection
Hangs bloodless
Daylight
In its search for continuum
And its succession to hope
Clings remorseless
To love
In a steadfast silence
Holds its will to its own faith in strength
And so anchored on peace, the day begins in patience
And cast as grain to the eternal dusts
The ancient chord of violins
With sorrows bow draws upon the strings
Of my heart
Daylight
And with its first thought; turned on love
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