In these murmurous times

garish garments of candle flung on me,

concealing into the blackness of this light,

the quiet that has clouded these eyes,

.

 the voices hushed of stories of this journey,

the door bunged up of narration, by the fortitude

of now confounded moon, eclipsed to aloofness,

.

abandoning the dew drops on the yews

which stand enslaving ye, my soul,

growing distant from the being, identity,

.

I cloaked upon in these murmurous times,

balding my heads, ridding them of

dishevelled wild liberty of ye, my heart,

.

blood being caked onto the knuckles,

enduring the blue, of breathing

vicious fumes, out from within

.

Image Copyright- Erin Leary

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