The Soul is Dead

I saw three shadows flicker from beyond the mirror's sight,

I felt three sharp tuggings and was disrobed before a light.

In that light I saw a bulb, from which the deception grew,

And startled even man from whom god was drew.

In keeping with the line, I was lead along a meadow.

Where grass was flattened by the gait of men fattened

By the shadow's plates of food.

Food for the flesh but not for the soul,

Their bodies grew large and foul.

The soul sought shelter from the headless bunch,

Then shriveled on the roadside for lack of want.

As I passed it coughed a sigh of relief, then bled a sodden red.

Thus was such determined: the soul is dead.

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