Condense.

Cavernous mountain side,
beast scarred moons.
Filth of black,
drip down teaspoons.
Still rivers dyed,
Yet stone illuminates,
a tale cried,
many forsaken fates.
(On walls. In white, it is read by no one. So it is black. Always it is.)
A woman speaks.
“I must eat this timber,
lest I wither.”
A man speaks.
“I must know this is I,
until I die.”
No one speaks, all believe.
“I must always be nine,
to him is divine”
(In dream. In light, flight by no one. So it is grey, grounded in forlorn. Never it stays.)
A girl laughs.
“Fall beyond ground,
Disease the town,
Behead the crown,
die… drown.”
(Upon dark sun. Too dark to see past. It vanishes for one star to shine.)
A widow’s last breath.
“Live.”
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