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The Fragile Thread of Spun Obsidian

A whispered promise, like a phantom gleam, A thread of trust, of spun obsidian made, So sharp and dark, it shatters every dream, If careless hands its delicate form invade. No gilded cage, no rushing, swollen stream, Can mend the cracks where doubt has overlaid. Like frozen breath upon a winter pane, Its clarity can vanish in a strain. ©bfa022825

Copyright © | Year Posted 2025




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