Upon
this tree of thousand stars,

My
demon gently plays the violin.
At
the still point of the turning away,
Neither
dance nor decline,
Not in
this moment of time,
I
see myself playing my own string;
And
while the note lasts, it buries each day -
There he
humbly smiles, feeding on my scars -
Come
hither sweet birds, come resting.
jadoablu
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