I Have Forged Your Image
I am a widow of your eyes;
because no longer
will they look upon me
Yet still I stand with your phantom,
your omnipresent phantom,
which possess not your true eyes,
but something I have forged,
pieced together with what you
have left behind in your footsteps.
It is a desecration,
an abomination to
your venerated image,
but it is all I have left of you.
It speaks not with your words
but of something you might say
in a fury, and still,
I have named it divine providence.
We are united,
your phantom and I,
and we are careful not to tred
on hallowed ground;
ground in which one day,
one lucky day,
you had stepped.
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