Within a sphere of this maniacal world,
Days pass as sure as they fall.
Their movement shakes my window--
The house settles, it settles and cracks to tell its tale.
I am an entity, and I am unafraid,
For within the center, the eye, and the calm
Of this storm, I do wait--
And as I am still, but one thing is real. That is--
The sound of the gods who’ve claimed my soul,
Clamoring yet whispering, into the sound hole.
They speak of your return, and of an October sky--
Silhouetting the oak tree we’ve claimed, but not yet known.
I embark unto the shoreline, and my feet,
They follow my heart.
Soon, the water, it surrounds me--
I am floating and bathing within a hope that stirs
My chest. I break, but my gods appoint a seamstress.
It’s not until they’ve mended my best dress,
That they gently, one last time,
Reveal to me the sky that holds the tree--
“Oh, dear heart, this sight you shall soon be.”
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