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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Ghost >> ID #1207082 |
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Nightmare Running through the face of terror’s golden eyes of molten fires. Wafting wraiths as stretcher-bearers. Phantoms feeding funeral pyres. Terror’s grasp a fiery coffin, lined with mind’s volcanic flashes. Knowing I have been there often, groping cinders, breathing ashes. Morning heavy with drops of dew, I trudge last weary, lonely mile. Waking to arms that comfort me, basking in sunrise of her smile.
© Copyright 2007 Dennis Cardiff (UN: dcardiff at Writing.Com).
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