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Market place of hallucination
In an endless night,
time is my nemesis.
In the realms of sleepwalking nightmares,
where trumpets blow an eerie tune,
I can see the Grim Reaper,
perched upon my tomb.
I search for the sandman
in the domain of dreams.
Where hope is an alchemy of potions,
igniting stars to cremate calamity.
In the marketplace of hallucination,
I barter with misty, moody moonlight,
before reality returns to spoil an ephemeral fate,
wishing to remain where imagination illuminates.
Sprites and Sylphs guide to a secret passage,
a labyrinth where ancient secrets sleep.
Yet their black gates are like Hercules' Twelve Labors.
Constant knocking results in the death of spirit.
Defeated by delusions of utopia,
I surrender to a tangible conclusion.
Copyright ©
Silent One
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