There’s a ghost loitering at my door.
It’s mouth is open but no stories does it tell.
It can step through walls to weave its nightmare,
But not enter the temple of my heart anymore.
It’s flutterings are no more than spring,
A season passed in a momentary boom,
Its scuffling no more than a distraction,
Which I assigned to the sky in flames and ash.

Wordle 541

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