A Demon's Sonata

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Standing in the moonlight,
only the luminescence draw of dancing shadows gave the implication of something more,
something greater.

Watching with eyes unburdened with emotions,
to reveal the contrast differences of what we see and what is there,
what had always been.

Was a figure veiled in darkness,
staying in the lull of the abyss for lest of being found,
being known.

Had been discarded by what it knew,
it grew to feel hatred over riding the pain,
sending it down, down, down,
into the ethereal pit of Hell.

If only the wings had not been clipped,
and the bathing light had not dismantled,
maybe,
oh maybe,
had it come to know more?

What was it to do,
being forgotten by what it loved,
and being remembered by what it loathed?





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