What am I a measure of?
No clarity to verse.
A shadow in a silhouette,
A tepid trace bemoaned.
No truth divine, no soul serene,
no voice to grace the heart.
Fathered by an orphan touch,
That never had the means to wean.
Leaving birth to struggle prone
Drifting through the outside core
Where speckles of the blighted tongue
Falls to words of a traversing breath.
Leaving life a tattered vestige
In silent dreams of future years
A ghostly murmur from an image
Where secrets tear within its frame.
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this almost seems eighteenth century with a modern feel…