Death
DEATH.
For Time and Death and mortal pain
Give wounds that will not heal again.
Emily Bronte
From the land of the night
The death has spread its wings
Marking eyes cold & lips starved
Hope gone under goaded stray
Sensitive heart being bled grey.
An anchorage in diseased body
Withering like the autumnal plant
Decayed air under cover of mourning
Rusty dust stretching in stifled bay
Inky night spreading shadows of lay.
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