The Trickster, Of Tricks

Dust, and ash.
I see my world crumble.

bones & bricks
as I sort through the rubbel,

i see death, faces unkown as I run, and I stumble,
now and forever these runins my home.

The color it fades.
its this darkness I roam, Lost as a burnt coal

with The trickster, of tricks
deep in my soul.

The bones, the bricks,
The trickster of tricks,

The world I have made,
the walls built thick

Deep in his grave,
he hides from the light.

The world he's built,
As master and slave.

The trickster of tricks,
And the world he has made.

by Ron Farmer

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