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A man, or is it man
a creature of the night it remains
gliding softly in footfalls of the past
through the grey shaded garden
towards the concrete staircase
then up toward the door and window
beating its cane against the glass
over the doorway the numbers are carved
nineteen fourteen
the time of its creation
the time of its construction
nine hits added to ten
then fourteen
always fourteen
cursed again
numbers equal memories
but gain no admittance
to this house of stone
of brick and mortar
beaten from history
into a future blurred
bound into each other
not as a lover
but as memories hated
all that remains to be done, is
as shadow robes move a ticking hand
slowly, steadily, and without recourse
so sets the candle
like clock wraiths
writhing
growing the flame
equation
in hollow pupils
as what was
exists
becoming
time driven
car crashing
war hawking
conflagration