Formless, Before the Dark Mirror: III

Ever do I assail your sight,
The creeping edge of your extremity,
And the wane of your sunset is the edge of my blade.

In the furnace of your light I am the choking exhale,
Suffocating the flame you forge for them,
The trespassing ebb of the hope you foment.

I germinate in fear without betraying myself,
And even as you chase love I haunt your steps,
And steal the day as you turn your ears to prayers.

Sublime, your orb is my womb, and I feast on your deeds
As I fester and form, ever growing,
Gorged on the doubt of those that kneel to you.

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