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Drip, drip Drip, drip Melts the soiled soul onto A dusty field of abandon Fenced in by human limbed pickets Yanked from the graves Of broken hearts Skeletal branched silhouettes Clatter above the bloodless Hole in the ground The Ravens hide in the shadows The shadows hide behind stone crops The crops provide bountiful skulls What is the illusion without a live audience? Who, or what heard the solemn incantation of Abra-Cadaver?

Copyright © | Year Posted 2014

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Date: 2/26/2015 1:57:00 AM
Great word play!....and dark, so dark... and thanks for the comment Dave...much appreciated.....Peter
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Date: 10/21/2014 12:55:00 PM
Very nicely penned ....great metaphors
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