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Jan 2015
Love me slow and not with haste,
fill my heart with all your grace.
This fickle skin will wither away
with the changing seasons burning astray.

Wrapped up in the cloaks of darkness like a banshee
in the grey, hooded cloth;
I’m wishing on the ashes to remind me of the fire
that started the very flame in my bleeding veins.

Let the wail of the woman replace the moan of the wolf;
when love and hope fly away from my soul -
set me free with the callous winds,
live unbruised and promise me that you will sigh no more.

Then leave me on the ground to rot in this haze,
I will pass just like those yesterdays.
Worry not about the chill in my bones,
I would rather die in the frosty tomb than live
in this loaned body of scattered remains
rearranged by the crescent full moon.

Now, love me slow and not with haste
and fill my heart with all your grace.

           - H.U.
Written by
huwriting  Sequestered
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