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Hall of Glass

Never mind peering through the windows    
nor caress their wooden frames,    
neither inhale their vaporous lacquer.    
Nary a murmur of gust passes    
through the slightest imperfections.    
It's their glass
that shatters; settling to silence.
Solemn hands collect the fragments
wicked mirror edges slither into flesh.
Lower his casket and reminisce
in the last breath of him.
What is more powerful    
than a soul that dies defiantly    
whilst clasping hands
full of shattered glass
mildly stained in their blood and yours?    
    
    
  
Written by Tacete
Published | Edited 28th Apr 2014
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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