the interment

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  • Death

    the interment

    life shods
    surrounds her gallery of shrouds
    in painted grey.
    she spoke silently of a widowed dream,
    trapped in the contrast of the baby's fist
    once circled in invisible aquebus
    for the mundanous war of war
    "quest of quest"
    and this fist of hers now open
    whose unmoving lips and state
    iterate a lost battle
    in pall's white flag,
    as those waiting to die
    bury him below.

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    Poetry is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality.

    T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

    kelads’s Poems (3)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    the interment 0
    life 0
    ....witches 0