Flies
Dreams of Death,
with Fractured Eyes.
Half our dead,
Our half alive.
Set in stone,
Your tomb awaits.
One must atone,
Hungry with hate.
A fire burns,
deep in my chest.
Burning urns,
With burning breath.
Death is near,
Every day.
Do not fear,
just fly away.
Copyright © Robert Dixon | Year Posted 2011
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