The blade is dull.
The hilt disfair.
The shimmers of gold,
Now emptily bare.
The grass is all dead.
The muck thickly creeps.
And all is surrounded,
By lifetimes of deep.
The rotted trees loom.
Their life long since strangled.
The world that they've known,
Is deathly entangled.
The sword still slips sinking.
Its blade does not gleam.
It falls deeper down,
In an unending dream.
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