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The Clockwork Madrigal
**For the Edgar Allan Poe ala The Raven contest**
Dreaming murmur,
as weary volumes
wrought open, whispered,
once forgotten chamber doors
from a stir of words—purple
the tongue silken hours
Souls always gather
like an echo's tongues,
where Lenore lay dying...
For centuries,
minutes like embers—
seconds burning
a demons harvest
for a glimpse
into and
beyond this world
and the scars
of nevermore.
The floor is weak
where ghosts
don once mortal shades,
restless
murmured the sunset
whispering names,
ebony-black words
beckoning us e'er
unto Mother Night.
Uley
Dreaming murmur,
as weary volumes
wrought open, whispered,
once forgotten chamber doors
from a stir of words—purple
the tongue silken hours
Souls always gather
like an echo's tongues,
where Lenore lay dying...
For centuries,
minutes like embers—
seconds burning
a demons harvest
for a glimpse
into and
beyond this world
and the scars
of nevermore.
The floor is weak
where ghosts
don once mortal shades,
restless
murmured the sunset
whispering names,
ebony-black words
beckoning us e'er
unto Mother Night.
Uley
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