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Aug 2014
3
You are no item to me,
But a specter who winds through the bones
Elusive, frightening
Warm and whitening in a cemetery yard
You’ve returned for a purpose
That is not my own.
My eulogy goes as thus on a stone, waiting
Conjuring a spirited hand and knowing
Earthly words cannot tempt
A soul who rejected Heaven.
Written by
JP Goss
1.1k
 
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