17 syllables of new light

Mystery of a new light

captured between

the windows to her room

the cipher of mosaic tiles

the shadow cast over it

has to be explained away

in 17 syllables, and legible font

the more I explain

further from the truth it gets

feigning of a celebrated life

caught between a rock and a hard place

unable to stand on four legs

yet seems, to be soaring

majestic and false, in darkness,

ghosts are bred, until they turn

into winged seraphs –

no wings to call their own,

only the wind.

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