Over the Darkest Hill

It would be
Strangely
Beautiful.

If only it
Were
Fires
Burning.

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Cold Window

It fades
To nothing,
From pearls
On shining glass.

I am free.
No trace left.

Yet,
You.

It burnt
A soft black
Scar,
From pure to
Furious jet.

No trace left.
I am free.

You,
Yet.

Trapped.
By the
Marks you
Leave.