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Rated: E · Poetry · Tragedy · #2163093
A poem for the dead.

Let me be still
let me be silent
let me be sober
as pines on the hill

Let them all listen
listen to nothing
nothing save whispers
unsaid in the chill

darkness of winter
away from the others
let me rekindle
the tiniest spark

Snowbanks of sorrow
sodden and frozen
sad cries at midnight
alone in the dark

I can't remember
fires of our passion
I can't recall
your breath
on my face

vacant my eyes
stare from the window
did we once live here
alone in this place?

I am the door
I am the window
I am the nothing
that's scolding
the wind

howling the truth
while God only listens
I won't believe me
that this is the end.

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