The Past

The past it is dead
Gone
A specter vanished.

It's tendril fingers
Reaching
Drawing us back

He to a lost love
Vanished
Into a Martyrs shroud.

Her to a time pasted
Bound
Pleasure turned to Horror

They meet in the present
As Shadows
To comfort and guide

No earthly form
To deceive
Only outstretched hands to aid

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The Past

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