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I did not rise in splendor

From the dead-ditch waters

Which whirl-pooled around my ankles

The mud-diluted sea of red

Rust-rivers stagnating like life

In corners where distant words

Dissolved in faces stilled

Becalmed by fearful waiting where

Desperate actions leant death a

Gift of welcome clemency

And possessions rescued hung

Silent monuments to death and waste

A quietus from the words once cried

In fantasised glories never birthed

Merely swept away, erased

Until the hollows ceased to be

Lost deep beyond consciousness

Of greenery and soundless peace

As weeping rains form pools

Which cling to abhorrent memory.

 

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