your music to my dead places,
like some phantom magic,
conquers this wasting heart,
these tired eyes,
illuminates my shadows,
transports me to the farthest reaches,
cradles this beleaguered orphan,
levitates this iron soul,
drowns my falsehood in truth,
cracks the chrysallis casing,
and in these small, sacred moments
the abysmal is divine.
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