Graveyard LivingA Poem by N.S. BennettI am the death of culture Your heart; A sepulcher Feast like vultures. Turn me to mulch or Wrap my soul in your loving embrace A crushing disgrace;I cannot see your face No stone to name. I'll rot in this place. Sing me to impassioned sleep Hearts can weep; Slumber in the deep Woe at ease. This is defeat. © 2015 N.S. Bennett |
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