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Johnathan Jones


Death coldly strolls among the bones
That lie entombed in Luna's frozen light.
Hollow stares accuse the heavens,
And plead their cause, lost in the still of night.
The Music of the Spheres plays on,
Unceasing as the silence of the wise.
The swords of fools carve seas of tears,
Drowning hope and fathering brave new lies;
On blood-drenched fields, under a sky
Where sovereigns dream and soldiers die.