Opus 1693

Phillip A. Ellis

Though dust we may ever be,
   treading the stage for an act
lit by the gaslights cracked
till our time fades, calling we
   back to oblivion dree,
like dying stars we are racked
   though dust.

Like determined lines, unfree;
   like rigid masks are we, stacked;
   like souls by fakery blacked--
we act, enchanted, and flee--
   though dust....

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