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The Poem I Wrote For Myself

Date Written: November 6, 2017
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I was alone, so I sang to myself,

But my tones were thin as air

Singing softly to myself,

I met a shade who was bound, a veil to wear

Who with grand and stately words invited me to his lair

And I, a fool, and so alone

Followed the spirit there

When I arrived he barred the door

And chained me to his royal chair

And as I watched in desperate horror

The stone his finger nails did tear

My blood was cold, my courage failed

As my guide the world assailed,

And therein I saw a forest felled

And rivers dried and mountains quailed

As the wrath of the wraith prevailed

Cities burned and in their squares

Sat I, enthroned, enchained,

Inside a palisade of air

Unable to hurt, unable to aid,

Bound by fate to only stare.

The grass burned beneath his stride

And the soil fled away.

Fire wasted deeps where whales abide

And the stars began to fall and sway

But my captor ended not his play.

Swiftly with red banner, with cold iron swords

He carried out his task

And the earth seemed to shatter at his word

He turned and I beheld his face unmasked

And I died as I saw the face that had set the desolations free

And realized, that the face belonged to me.

Swiftly the wind bore the shade away

And alone, holding the sword and standard was I,

In the wreck of my own unconscious play.

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