Editor's ChoiceMusingsPoetry

Oculus

We are marching together in disorderly unison
United to a cause that is slowly dying
While hearing the faint echoes of our bitter-sweet past
Through the mouth of the forest conch.

Frail is the thread that ties our loose lives together
Under this atmosphere of unholy sanctity
Few will survive tonight
And those who will must never be whole again.

At the hour to leave
We shall walk out of here born anew in scars
The chalk dust and candle wax the only testaments to this dawning.

After,
We shall gather to disperse, to gather and disperse again.
Pursuing futility with an ardor that is puzzling—even to ourselves.

Living in a dreamlike daze
While frolicking in the pit of delicious devilry.
Until the scars burn, calling us to share in this unholy communion
As the cycle begins anew.

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