The dead are dead,
dead and lost,
and the living
live to die,
time will place them
onto death's cold arms
that will cradle them
away from life,
away from us,
loss carving us hollow.
Thin skin and bones
lacking marrow,
sluggish blood
in the veins,
flesh like dry leaves
on late autumn's trees,
how shallow are my roots
before the storm I can feel
coming over the empty land.
09.05.2025
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