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Poetic T Aug 2015
Eyes glazed of whispers, as spectral wisps played
Upon dead wood, melody bled slowly out.

Siren of morbidity,  the departed attune to her
Rapture, Risen on white ash from above.

Frigid was her beauty as she performed, all would
Dance to the elegant tunes of deaths calling.  

Radiant glows arose and for this the wood decayed
And ash wallowed, her rhapsody faded to daylight.

All that arose wilted, no longer nourished by her calling.
Cremated on sunlight's bliss, as if they were never there

Eyes glazed of whispers, she awaits for the time of
Shadows, to play her tune of oblivion, will you stay?

— The End —