There where mirrors intertwine
Ecstatically, scraping the celestial reflection,
Playing sinfully with the withered vine
And fruits of Asgard. Deeply in the nine
Hells or infernos lies our suspicion.
Killing the veil of that unwanted
By many a poet or preacher or knave.
The murky image hides in the haunted
And blessed projection, ti's undoubted
That that soul is but a slave.
Lustful, longing, a lullaby so sweet
It pains the rib cage, a fear
Protruding shut eyelids with heat
Emerging, surfacing to defeat
The lies etched into this crystal sphere.















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