So there you are…
Where are your silver eyes?
I longed for them for such a long time.
Where have you left your feathers?
For books i guess…
But the era of ink and quills is gone!
Alone you stand on an unwinding mechanism,
Clock ticking backwards,
Schism of the souls.
The last vision I had, before you left for unknown,
Was like a bird of paradise
Bound to a tree by foreign means.
And what scared me the most,
Were your scarred hands,
Silver from tears of anger.
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