Scars upon your heart,

Young sorrows still echo down

Through autumns, ages

And paths made of false rainbows,

Deluded spectrums, misplaced optics.

 

Your science gave way

To dream contracts, blood-written

Bargains of sin and loss

Under red pagan moons

And cold, strange stars.

 

Was there enough of art

In your journeys

Or in your truth

To forget her dancing in the forest

Just beyond the reach of your verse?

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