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Poetic T Mar 2015
Slipping in & out of gravestones  & tombstones,
She whispers words upon the carvings
Sleep,
Sleep,
Sleep
Well, in this slumber of death
You have earned this eternal rest
You were of the living but past to the dead,
You earned what eyes closed shut need
And that is rest.
Sleep,
Sleep,
Sleep
My still, motionless friends
For this is eternal this moment
That death gifted, never worry what
Happens as you now reside in the
Fields of
Stone,
Words,
Silence
Speak volumes, as tears fall like raindrops
Each misses that moment
But know it has passed.
Rest in your bed of silk and wood
As she slips in & out of
Gravestones & tombstones, she speaks to the dead.

— The End —