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black poetry

in an old chamber softly lit
are you alive?
he'd even have his joke
and my name is truthful
why then, must we see?
their beautiful hair
when the hours of day are numbered
last night the full moon laid a cloth of white
these hearts were woven of human joys and cares
as a white candle
there was a strangeness on your lips
under the harvest moon

 



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