Days of Discord

As winter’s fatal embrace descends
From that abandoned bier
I turn away, unwilling yet, to
Yield up these rash dreams as
Reason implores, but fails
Against that familiar tempest

For in the fashion of fools
Can hopes long drowned survive
This cold tide’s wake if
Stray threads like spun breath
Fall beneath the hand of
Those uncherished shears?

Sundered by those skeins,
Condemned to wander these halls
Where moonlight echoes emptiness
And crows rejoice in the carrion fall
The Apportioners’ twined strand
Strangles my vain hungers

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