i close my eyes
and see the stars
burn bright
like ghostly spires
summoning the scenes
soon cast
to thought
the wistful sear
of ceremony
fraught with seas
of sentiment
the present’s
mirrored presence
a mirage
the pin
pricks of the erstwhile
ways
we watched
awash with sorrow
whose poignancy
was spurned
and spent for naught
afforded
by the looming morrow
latent
with lament
as the pillow
wrests my head
to see us
off
A thing of beauty!
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Beautiful
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