Slaughterhouses of Time

Some things fade into shadows,
Memories that whisper but cannot be recalled,
Promises that retreat into slaughterhouses of time,
Vanities that echo like wraiths of darkness and dust.

Some things burn down to ash,
Empires made of cards that crumple beneath breath,
Daydreams made of conceits that lie rent in the dawn,
Fictions made of smoke that choke those already blind.

Some things endure even hope,
Euphoria spilled like blood drunken deep,
Songs stung by sorrows we brave as if arrows,
Graves unearthed by shadows we dare never name.

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