an old man,
toothless and blind
blind-sighted to our
long-winded sufferings
and fleeting
His crow-like gaze
sightless as the weathered
glass of milky moonlit tides
jeering at our ripened flesh
wrinkled, pressed with
spidery veins, gorges of his path
Under his sea-dark pupils
churning in our tears
we claw at empty gales
together, one and the same
the best and the worst
the light and the dark
until at last the inky
of oblivion
wisps upon his leer
no more

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