Nestled deep in the yawning abyss,
Waxy teardrops
dribble from a lambent candle
Burning for
stale celebrations of
Disremembered
dreams.
Beside the
flickering beacon rests a man,
The architect,
The all-seeing
eye,
The arbiter of
the universal mind.
The candle glows
for one man’s dying memory.
Fables once
cherished and chanted by the masses,
Now faintly echo
in the empty expanse
For the architect
to ponder in somber stillness.
Shadows steadily slink,
Slowly choking
light.
The dim flame
cries:
A flood is
coming.
The man fishes
for fleeting reflections,
In the shady
burrow of the strange mind
Grasping for
decaying delusions.
Deliberate demise
disguised by promise.
In this hollow
bunker of the unconscious,
The architect of
his destiny, as the cycle commands,
Watches wistfully
as night swallows the final spark,
Anxiously rising
to start anew.
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