Whispering Reproach

Sequestered Gallery The filtered secluded A tragic ending to weather Its exterior once feathered At night, in the light of the moon My mind has a visitor who whispers... Who whispers.... Their beauty now framed Paper mache vertebra They visit me with a subtle hold In my decrepit ear they scold Stories of old, truths untold Unwrapping the layers of exile Morals withering While whispering reproach Brandishing my spine like a flag of some kind Untitled tomb where there once lay a room Painted runes upon the walls now long gone My vessel is erased but my spirit lives on Only one knows the original summary Gorgeously empty phenomenal darkness Cryptic shadows that guide me below Underneath this altar of despair Births immaculate perfection Barren in a complete obsolete void