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Is he an icon or an idol? Good or Evil?
His face is stern, inflexible and grim.
He gives a sign and with a great upheaval,
The orchestra appears in front of him.
They congregate, blockading light, refusing
To let the silence offer me repose.
Their blaring horns, their shrieking, wailing music
Beats down on me without a single pause.
Into the depths of darkness, they return
Where happiness and tears can’t be discerned.
PART III. Hell (1)
© Copyright Valentina Battler. All rights reserved
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