The frailest soft tendril came winding under the door
A voice on a spindle and nothing more
Snake-like, traversing the floor, passing on a drift
Up and to my easy mind, and down into the rift
And in this slumber in the hallway
A candle jutted from the wall
It burned with priestly fervor
Yet lit nothing at all
Below it a pool of wax had cooled
And a fool danced in the hall in the shadow.
I stood and stared and knew he was there
But I saw naught but flicker and glare
And a tendril wire as it passed me
Whispers, whispers…
Steps and steps stopping
No noise in the void
The fool, dancing, hopping
A knife on the floor
And a deep red desire, wax red
Upon it was poured
And the fool, what was, is no more.
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