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On comes the night
A landslide of shadow

The museum is cold
And blue after sundown

The past sheds its skin

In a portal of stillness
Ghosts revisit
Their possessions again
In hollow footstep halls

Paintings cease to speak
Spirits don forgotten jewels

A great banquet begins

Quiet roar of old conversation
Fills the emptied rooms

Floating antique waltz
Cellos, velvet shoes

Feverish music mingles
With mindless, pulsing factions
Of distant crowds and automobiles

Vampires look on
Through leaded glass windows
In an eerie glow

Their black capes more beautiful
With the sudden appearance
Of snow

(from Mystic)
August 29, 2011

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