Seven of Cups
When the Mists of Avalon Fall
By Dylan GarciaPublished 6 years ago • 1 min read
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Elaborate prophecies,
And provocative fables.
Characters, seen but not known
Renders my heart unstable.
Somehow I forget to breathe.
holding the air in my chest
The ache growing in my lungs
These sights will not let me rest.
Vivid and yet so unreal,
These visions make my blood run
A friendly silent torture
This damage can’t be undone.
Rapid fire premonitions
Of things that will never be-
Can’t seem to shake the control
they’ve always had over me.
When our inventions shatter
And truth grips us by the throat
I hope it is not too late
To learn again how to float.
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