Art

Nothing but stories, spun in a circle.

Bones like blackened brittle glass

Skin like sandpaper gravel rasp

Eyes like ebony empty eons

Heart of a heartless human scion

Blood on grass, grass it grows

Ink on paper, thoughts to know

Beaten iron, rusted shut

Hammered steel, soaked in gut

Memory poured out, like water to time

Sentience lost, bled out like wine

Souls saved, packed deep in the ground

Drip away, as vault after vault is found

Hope refuses, calls back to life

Heroes and heroines, once again rise

Some fail, some fizzle, some fracture and fall

Some shine, some sparkle, some scintillate all

Teeth, yet, teeth and claw too

Sharp to gnaw on me and you

Claws and pincers, fang and tooth

Eyes of blackness, hearts dark true

Where now the sine pattern that holds

Us up and down, always controlled

Trapped in a cycle, seeking to be free

But break the pattern, and you’ll let him be

Nothing but stories, spun in a circle

All the way up, every one a turtle

We try, to trust, and trust ever fails

So what? We must, if life is to sail

Keep true, Keep just, Keep honest and strong

Hold tight, remember us, and keep on, and on.

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