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End (Free verse) by Sasha
Now as oaken trees are broken,
and the clocks hang on the hour,
where the gothic bells are sounding
with no bellman in the tower
one who ran a global gauntlet
with a burning, burning speed
and awoke the mangled Hydra
whom the basalisk will heed
while the oceans seethe and cower
at the stars theyâre pummeled by
and the clouds are ripped by living
constellations from the sky,
kneels before a black Madonna
while the falling angels swarm
and the sheet of night reveals
that the lightningâs from no storm
and that altars of the cities
rage a sacrificial mass,
glowing with a million candles
made of melting steel and glass
which reflects a burning orchard
and the moon that quenched the sun
and the mirrors telling lookers
ânothing good can now be done.â
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