A Shade’s Observation

Scars, Book One, Entry Eight

Drifting between the sea and the sky,

A raft floats not, nor does it fly.

The Shade, once a seer, sits in contemplation,

They no longer listen, clouded with hesitation.

As the Muse’s lament echoes silent,

The horizon swirls with gold, emerald, and violet.

The city—dreary, dingy, cozy—sways, blurred and stained,

Ink bleeds into shadow, twisted grief, as the dreamer dreams pained.

 
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Street Lamps on a Grassy Lane

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The Golden Twilight