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Apr 2018
Abandoned murals across the boarder,Β the walls still painted by war. The scrap yard a pile of torn limbs, needles embedded in phalanges divorcing finger from nail the soil stillΒ grieves .

Infants don't see the sun.
Autumn leaves with fleeting lives.
a thousands hills with wooden crosses rooted in, What is beneath?

An old man sighs before the last breath departs
Chasing a wind of memories escaping dark pasts. Hands mirror fire remnants, scatter across the vast lands with red tears immersing the white grass .
I was thinking about cities we hear about everyday,  decimated and left for vultures. So I got me digital pen and paper and portrayed.
Jamie King
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Jamie King  you know
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