Brief, Caught IA Poem by SimstarBrief, caught I, the scent of my funeral pyre Built by those without sense of that cleansing fire That will have it's revenge on such spare limbs as I can recruit To make dying not an end but a desire. So, my words ebb away on marvellous air, for the dead don't speak And those words that might destroy, can be re-cast in a comfort that may seek Nobility, in a heart of darkness that still bears a spark Like the pure love of a stranger that still leaves it's mark Like a kiss from the other world, languorous and sensual An embrace in the chaste dark And final thought, insensible. © 2015 Simstar |
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Added on January 1, 2015 Last Updated on January 1, 2015 |