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My talisman was destroyed
by a sorcerer, who, much annoyed,
bade me worship only him.
I worship not a lowly man
who lacks the power to understand
beauty beyond the realm of man.

Plato’s archetypes are real
in our creations and what we feel.

The innocence of childhood play
The setting sun at end of day
The work of every artist great
Brings me to a better fate

My talisman returned to me
Resurrected, in a different guise.
There is somewhere of no lies,
only adamantine ties.
Where love is indivisible from art
and only death tears us apart.
Jan 2
Crimson veil, in strands of velvet,
Shadows holes so deep, yet full,
Upon and through clear clouds englobed,
Hold all the meaning, thought; and mull.

Pointed stripes up, cutting darkness.
Peachy border down below:
Well, closed up by ivory planks,
Forever to prevent its blow.

Gape of paradise, extended
Past the limits of what's forth.
Riddled thoughts with whispered feeling,
To now be learned of its full worth.

Beige earth, smooth, fake, yet still soothing:
Paleness, spread on pleasant mounds.
It is what always sets apart
And into fading visage wounds.

Crimson veil, in strands of velvet,
Shadows holes, deep, never dull,
Into two lunar suns engraved
Is where I stare, for they will lull.
This is about what felt like a lost once-in-forever experience: perfect place, time and person, but I let it go as if flowing away on a river, to only move farther and not come back.
Each stanza is built upon the same structure: an 8-7-8-8 meter and ABCB rhyme, with the general metrical foot of the first half made of trochees and the latter one made of iambs, although that is only the suggestion for it and you can take any freedom on accents and pauses.
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