Hark, call of a distant soliloquy amidst silver moon and shadowed lights
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Still all movement, stay all greed of human conditions' discontent
Let neither thought nor word nor life taint an instant illusion.
Arms trembling, eyes towards the upturned face, mystified, confused
Soft lips- devoutly wished, deeply desired, ever hoped for- so near
Turning measured, mathematical, graceless in its form, incalculably hateful.
Then what anger, what rage, what bitterness is now stoked to full fury
Incendiary madness of the passion borne, lingerers of a pastel world
Have concieved out of everything- fallen too far down some high pedestal.
Cry, lament for loss so this love should be all the better during the next
Eyes to eyes, let souls understand fluttering dreams and their angel cohorts
Shines brilliant bright only through the swiftly gyring shroud of memory.
The conscious shape reality.