Requiem on Thine Hands


Upon a pine box mirth bemoans; the cobblestone is cracked,
the sod bare, the burdensome pant of mares a witness to the frozen.

Languid leaves await their fall; stems twisting,
and decapitating the host head,
abandoned leaves are pronounced beneath lumbering tracks;
muted their approach.

Drained the candle remains, weeping wax clung on sedentary chair,
an imminent statuary professes, stories stolen by pictures on walls.

The unknown, afforded in, suffocated, somber vestment;
silence laments the lamenting.

Handed over by coats, and black attire,
a mandatory procession for the breathing, an observance keeping calm.

Monuments embrace nothing; devoid, deleted, blanked out,
the penitent stricken; where shall we go, where shall we go.

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