Yad VashemMature

Yad Vashem

One wisp grasps the darkness by the wrist
and scrapes it down to its sorry knees.
Thousands of seconds tick to the bleeding beat
beat to the unseeing to the pit to which they
belong. An innocent child's name
catches at my ears and holds
on, insisting upon whispering itself
until its entirety is spoken.

"Clasp me into your innermost psyche,"
it slips its significance into the backs
of my knees as I tremble and sweat
and the tears escape my eyes. A single
name. A single name, and a flame's
shifting, slithering light, tears me
to my knees and constrains my heart
until it, too is silenced by the constant

fundamental of the crystal strains.

The End

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