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Litany of Borrowed Sorrows
The sorrows we borrow,
the sorrows we keep—
are debts of the dead,
replayed in our sleep.
Blood writes the tally,
blood writes it in red;
tomorrow collects
what yesterday bled.
The sun drags its shadow.
The sun drags its shroud—
darkness advancing
cowering aloud.
Dry eyes at dawn.
Ashes inbred;
a prayer in the dust,
a prayer for the dead.
The sun flares faintly,
a wound in the sky.
The clouds part briefly,
yet cold will not die.
What was served yesterday
lies rotting today;
a banquet of abstinence,
a plate of decay.
Tears must be borrowed.
Tears must be sown;
the covenant is endless,
the debt as ever has grown.
I am summoned.
I am again sworn—
to gather the blood,
to nourish the thorn,
to water dead flowers,
for sorrow's reborn.
Copyright ©
John Anderson
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