Roots, Wood, Holidays, Color, Autumn

by Marsha Marie

strings of passion
reached for love
the echoes cried
of what is not

dry and decayed
i cease 
no more
my throat is sliced
red rivers are dry

did no one hear me scream
death a welcome end
you hear nothing
but never-ending emptiness

burn me alive
of use am i
the winds of forgiveness tried 
but blankets are heavy and dusty
i want to dissipate

nothing to live for
but only memories of lost youth


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