Visage of Acceptance

The sabre sits within
Sword swallowed among hollow timber walls
This loneliest of intervals hints at a call
when reality falls into furrows of my dishevelled brow
Funny how funnelled, falling tears
form calcified habits for the ensuing years

Never before have my failings, my fears
flooded my gut in such a way

Still I am afraid to say what I feel
For what I feel is moot
It does not suit what is no now
nor what is to be

So what can I do? for it now resides within me
It decides whether to wilt all I see
into a melee of filtered fuzz

Kaleidoscopic refractions through actions of ever active eyes
Reactive, wise, but blinded by the products of sadness

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