Constance La France's Cemetery Contest...posted 29 May 25...' No one is completely prepared to bury glorious memories...' by poet
Somehow, the deluge of cloudburst unwraps my flesh pallid, as if to spill holy water--maybe thickened dew—just to give a name to lapses of my unheard cries, while an insolent breeze fails to listen as I howl in utter despair of life's requiem: The thistle of wet soil chains my feet anchored unto the swell of memories' bend; remaining distant in an unknown, vacant cemetery nourishing a loneliness only vagrants like me could bear: A scream of rain compels a thirst to feed on abrasions of ghastly pang...alone, isolated from new moonlight's lodging my solitude, my invisible frame starts to sigh behind the roughest of rain's marbled stone--- How can fresh mornings be so darn bleak?
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