To the Gates of Chill
Even to the realm of silence
I follow.
To primordial chaos
The specious zany follows.
Seemingly myopic,
my sepulchral glare.
Beware! Of conning eyes
you raider of fulfilled rapture.
I hound the hooded hound
for my demi-soul.
Adonis for Aphrophone
walks plutonian deeps.
Though, I come,
futility behind
scourges with strikes
of dejection.
Yet, on void grounds
I push to limbo
being met by wan faces,
wry creatures.
I fear that perchance
the blazing pecan
is ripe for reaping
Will you succumb?
Aphrophone!
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