“Funeral Pyre”
Grey snow in the air
and the wind that spins
around and up and through
skeletons of what was,
silhouettes that crumble
and disappear.
Light refracts and bends,
reflects and resonates,
and a sky bleeds
into the night.
I cannot.
I cannot breathe.
Sing your anthems.
Beat your drum.
Remember me
to your children’s children.
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