I dreamt of a tree
Snow-white boughs and silver leaf’d.
Gentle breezes that play in it’s branches,
Teasing and dancing amidst
The glowing flowers in the proud Sun’s gaze.
I dreamt of flames that rise and rise,
Burning high on flesh and blood.
Tongues of fire that lick the tree,
Scouring, scorching, reducing, into nothing.
Of high white towers, stone and mortar.
Age and dust that lie upon the tombs.
The lonely seat in the highest chamber,
The sun setting, the darkness claiming eternal.
The sea that rose in protest,
Clamoring, denying, rejecting.
An ending, a closure, finality in a chapter.
A high doom, at the setting of the evening star.
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