Poetry Marathon poem #16

He sighed,
content,
i could die.
Pause.
fuck that,
i’m fulfilled,
not done.
one.
two.
thee
for you.
epistle
letters arranged
poem to prayer
to page.
the risk.
the rush.
leaf the
loose losses
scattered sheets
prophets parchment
swiftly seeking
for information
gleaned and cleaned
to sparkle.
to fucking shine.
reservoir
reveal
man
with a mask
of mirrors
changling’s
persona
a forgotten
forest life
flooding
forthfar
longways and back.
The magic
returns
but that is
only because
my people
are fading.
i closed
my ears
to their calls
but no more.
i realize
mask o’ change
jack o’ lantern
silver and salt
sweat and luck
my gears are beginning
to turn.

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