RS (February 21,1989 / Werthiem Germany)


So send here woe,
hung all in black,
to wander until stars wane.

Why, brother?
Am I spurned as witch?
Yet, speech soon dies.

Illusions are futile -
shattered patterns docked.
Warm - but my body falters.

Mirrors of death reflected,
such was seen then,
Soon to gaze upon yon heights.

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