POETRY

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Song of the Unblessed

it seems a day
(or years) ago
when lazy waters
gurgled low
across the sun-baked
silver stone
to fold in pools of
liquid bone
that i first noticed i
was alone
and what else could i
do but laugh
and chisel out my
epitaph
upon the face of
hollow sky
where desperate prayers
meet to die
and there are no such
fools as i