Harticus De Tseer


Muster the unearthed manner
And rid the putrid healing that dwells
Within this useless fathom,
Denounce the endless sorrows
And lift the unfitting apologies,
Tread waters that shudder at your feet
Only to deepen and drown at your hands,
Touch and caress; there sleeps a reflection,
A lost soul, empty and broken,
One that begs the rain and wind where to go,
Only to be presented with hostile silence.

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