An ocean, blackly, hands
Its waves to empty sky
Which, softly, rends
A horizon apart.
My trepid soul watches
Still: the crashing furore
That melting,
Will, set to bore
Twinkling holes
In this nascent night.
And all the croaking
Crows wander here:
From far-off fly,
To island near.
Where, still, I sit
And watch the waves: a
Savage, sneering, laughing leer.
My mind is a lie:
A mask of fear;
Loses itself in frozen tears.
Constellations rear
Their heads
And scream.
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