The Witching Hour

    Sparks from my burning bridges,

Alight the winter sky,

   Making pathways in the heavens,

And glowing in my eyes,

 

   Conducted like a symphony,

The sounds of my remorse,

   I hum the tune, I sing along,

As my heart and mind divorce,

 

   There is no balm for a twisted scar,

That still remembers pain,

   There is nothing left for me to loose,

And everything to gain.

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