Fissured stones are entwining arms,

limbs dancing among the once pride

of summers bright leaves; now buried

in the decay of the season.

The wild wind of love, solitude in its

stillness, alone the breath echoes and

floats among the winds, no longer in its

majesty; scatters upon the unfeeling


Mist cloaks the unbounded, drinks in a

vanishing moon, the stars hide behind

bellowing shadows; sullen is the night

as it invokes fear in the weak.

Repose is the broken heart; creeping

among the graves lifeless as wilting

wreaths, diffused and motionless in

the depths of lost hope and


A cold image falls to the earth, the

night is stagnate as black shades of

death hovers in dank vapors; a life

stilled and soon unremembered.





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