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Once the anesthetic is gone
I am dead
I am not dead enough
Remember me once,
if memory is kind,
your small song bird.
Chorused stories that I once happily sung for you
Filling a house which made it a home
With my echoes of voice
that heightened ceilings, and breached the walls
And you answered back, encouraged me, with silence.
Your form merged into rigid countenance, face hidden behind the folded others.
My song--- was it enough to provide me with your love
Tell me please because I cannot hear you
Soil has no speakers, only the quiet ones with distilled tongues
And life shall be its only witness
Truly my hidden pain was your sordid gain
Has my late dowry increased your love for me
Dusty dollars of faded ghosts that once carried with them, morality
Sadly, there was never enough time, never enough to hold for ourselves
So the time has come for your voice
I’m so afraid of the darkness, my bed is hard and cold, where are all the comforts I once knew
I ask you please, begin--- there can be no shame when I am your only audience
Do not fail, the reach is too great in some other way
Sing me a song father, sing me back to sleep.
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