I felt the urge to write a poem.
This is what I came up with.
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Black pillars in the sky,
Against shades of blue and gold.
Reaching e'er high.
Like demons to the soul.
Souls of young and aging,
Beautiful and dark.
It festers.
It is plaguing.
Stealing songs from broken lark.
It comes and stays like winter,
In a land where flowers grew.
It withers and it splinters,
Spinning webs of things untrue.
It gorges on mind and body,
Wreaking havoc on the soul.
Its airs are cold and haughty.
Its tactics strong and bold.
It takes charge of lungs and heart,
Causing breath to come up short.
Between mind and soul it darts.
Its goal to life abort.
Until weak and withered weary,
The giver shall collapse.
The taker and the dreary,
Alone shall deeply laugh.
Full of life and stolen joy,
It has feasted on the soul.
It is cunning and is coy.
Who next shall pay the toll?