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I walked as the bishop,

They bowed before me,

I looked disdainfully as

I passed along the aisle ,

Occasionally feigning to

Touch their filthy hands

As they raised them

Up, in worship,

Towards me.


I sat up as the hermit,

Left alone in the cave,

The last time i saw anyone,

They stared, as if

I was something other

Then them,

Once, long ago.

I left,

I’m closer to the truth now.

I know, one day,

I’ll find it.

I stepped back,


As the onlooker,

Covering my face as they passed,

On the way to their fate,

Grime-encrusted and foul-smelling,

I longed for the sweet scents

Of my home, once this parade

Of filth had passed,

Watched children pelt

these poor souls with mud,

Before I turned and ran,

Back to my own brood,

Slamming the door behind me.


As the actor,

I spread forth words ,

Written by another,

Given life by me,

Spinning worlds for

An audience entraptured by me,

As they would be,

For many nights to come.

I knew that whichever one,

Man, woman, that I

Brought back to my

Squalid little rooms,

Would talk if it

as a palace,

For years.


As the mouse I hid,

Whilst heavy feet

Slammed into the ground,

Making it quake,

As I slunk closer

Into my hiding place

It feeling less and less

Safe, with every




As the hunter I smelt them,

They had been here,

The chase was almost over,

I paused, enjoying

The sensations of my

Weapons, as I readied

Myself, realised too late,

That this might be a trap.



Every moment, every soul,

Passed through me,

Was me, for a second.

I smiled, knowing where

My travels would take me

This merry evening,

I took my scythe

From the wall.

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