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s Willow Jan 2019
Wispy moonlight beams,
enter the barren church
a place of dreams.
Outside next to a silver birch.
Inside women in search for someone,
someone long gone.
I kneel upon the alter.
The pain fills the void with slaughter.
A slave, frozen to his peace.
Nothing left to hang on.
It’s the end run.
Robbed forms,
lifted the storms.
However, my naked flesh spared not.

— The End —