House Of Ghosts

A road through rose-coloured mountains,
Arisen in moments less smoky, more bright,
Silently stole my bestowment,
Softer a focus in light.

All those times I solemnly demurred
To where this heart by evening burned,
In this heart my beating chest,
In these ribs now laid to rest.

All endless routes impassable,
Assembled stars loom darkly
Stern statues in a hallowed sky;
Beyond countless thorny doors

A final chance before losses advance
To yearn, though little is learned,
Which explains to you why
For those mournful mountains
I endeavour again to return.

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