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The Singer

A melody absent harmony tiptoes on the wind,
I knew the singer, once.
We chased dreams through a golden wood,
And swing on boughs of twilight.

Mortal lungs demanded breath, and eyes-
O eyes must blink, I knew.
One tear for me, and one that begged for her-
Dust devils twisted madly in her wake.

My voice was half a thing of dream.
The half too real echoed in the fleeing birds.
Maples wept autumn colored leaves
Until night stole me into her embrace.

Solace from light of moon or star shunned me,
And my eyes refused the refuge of heaven.
I stumbled no more lost in darkness
Than I would sun-loved familiar roads sans her.

Sometime after, I awoke, entangled
From the chains of dream or nightmare,
Now only mists wilting before my withered rage-
And the indifferent noise of birds.

A horizon freshly strange to a lonely pair of feet
Stretches out towards a home
Where in a dream she'd be,
But only sleeplessness stalks ahead of me.

And of the notes on the breeze,
Where a harmony should be, only a whisper.
My heart lacks strength to sing, lament,
I knew the singer, once.

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