Truth is the singing spark
within your soul and the
compassionate veins
of the porcelain moon,
composing lullabies
like an arcane talisman,
when words are mere
daggers to the heart
that aches for an
empathetic empyrean.
I’ve written tales with tortured ink
in silence beneath starless skies,
when the music of life fades
into salt-soaked sands,
drenched in monotonous beads
of obsidian mists,
listening to the golden grains
in the wishing well,
whisper...
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