A puppet made of glass,
with burning amber strings.
It acts as a tool,
serving purposes unknown.
the life you lived-
crashing down.
Lights so bright,
shadows die,
now perfectly placed.
Trees grow to seedlings,
clouds turning to ash,
a perfect shape in sight.
I grow into a giant-
or so it may seem.
The world now,
just a speck of dust,
our destiny approaches.
We reach for the star-
death is the perfect state.
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