Soft footfalls in the blanketing snow....Lights.
Ridden up and glowing like coals, embered and smouldering,
Whose Face is seen, In repose and in transfixion
.....shredded He was and ever will Be....
her gaze like scissorhands, her Touch like a scalpel
....Flay Alive and sup.....
That pristine snow fell in the cracks.....
Chimes and others beat a drum , slow....
repeated and droll at times....
A season to be merry and what of those left without?
He clamoured to all.....
Touch and see , Feel and taste,
Claim and stake....
Impaling visions aflit across the scape and rumbled through
... did the fleeting grimace make One Be...
If not him, then Who?
Tell Me , whisper it So I Ken......
Said the birds to the warblers

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