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Sep 2015
A river black, is rising, drinking water for the wolves.
Violently the foam engulfs the rocks in a lovely roaring song.
The reflection of the hanging moon, haunting.
The dark filling my eyes, how shallow, the life once was.
So swallowed down I am.
At night only the white gleaming marrow of bone,
a contrast to this darkened bed of death.
At rest, far from the waves a longing hum is deep within this skull.
fairy bog
Written by
fairy bog  US
   --- and Dina Zivkovic
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