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Nov 2014
Body of the shadow
slowly creeping out for dawn
to cover His light with ours gone

In the hours before dawn, they call us Leagion,
and we are many
cursed with the gift of eternity;
life dances above us, broken and alone.

We ear the sounds of lingering silence
drawn from the mouths of babes
sacraficed at the ashen altar;
to remind us: death comes for us all!

And it's all for you, my nightmare
Night Mare!  We ride the horizon of your iris,  
deep as the vacuum of space,
collecting this occular accuity
for a chance to inhabit our grace.
A homage to the shadow within and without. An experiment with darkness by a one who is otherwise quite light.
Mattrick Patrick
Written by
Mattrick Patrick
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