Taken Over

Things embraced by the arms fall prey to the clasped palms

Turning them into dust and returning them somewhere

Where they stand in a heap in some abandoned land

Withered things do not fascinate or inspire the feelings to care

Raven night forms a cluster of thoughts foretelling the health of dawn

Bruised hearts do not heal because of a pale sun

Fiery grounds yield smoky times to shroud the celestial energies

Wounds remain open and feet cannot run on depleted times

Enveloped orb speak of troubled moments in frail voices


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