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  Nov 2020 Spriha Kant
Seranaea Jones
-

~a small pile of ash—

some teeth
metal oxide and
grated bone material

fitting a cardboard
vault with such a
precision

a weighing of decision

to throw in some
flour or a handful
of dirt

upon a
lifetime allotment
of sanctified hurt

i sleep
to-night in a
shoe box casket

to fathom that
finalized state
of being ~


s jones
Nov 2020



.

Empty streets
Hope, dismissed
Fears of a wave
Of being swept away
Abandoned faith
Dust it tastes
Mortal to the core
Fear leads to no shore
Hope makes you live
If you believe

At sunset
The sky turns in liquid gold
The trees with forgotten leaves
Promised, new to grow
Orange pinwheel, rolls down the hills
The shadows of the bark, evenly spill
on the grey grained roads
Shining bright and dark
The twilight begins


✨✨
  Nov 2020 Spriha Kant
Sarah Flynn
someone asked,

“how can you be
so happy,

but still write poetry
like depression
is all you know?”




did it ever occur to you
that maybe

I’m only happy because
I took that depression
out on this paper,

instead of taking it
out on myself?
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