The Book of Shadows
A being sits in silence and solace writing a poem
Writing a poem to the tune of their own parade
Their own parade dead lest for the beat of a drum
The beat of a drum carrying them through the night
It wonders about the past, present, future
It wonders about its legacy on a page
It wonders about the luxuries which befall it’s kin
It wonders about the fate which befalls the damned
It puts a pen to a page to the tune to their lies
It puts a lyric and a rhyme
It puts a memory to a soul to a fate long past
It puts a thought and a time
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