As my fate is sealed

The tides of time manifest a cruel hymn,

I beg the curse doth not trap me in peril,

For I wish to witness death's wake

And the maestro's symphony of violins screeching,

And the widow's spindles stabbing into my bones.


As they devour my worn carapace,

I shall beg them to, let from it drip the marrow

For the brisk wind weaves hope, within its purity repentance lay,

And I may shed away crimson echoes,

Bitter insignias of winters past

For each tear, a feather upon her grave I will put to rest.


The End

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