Dying

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no blues skies
upon opening my eyes,
only the dismal grey
of wretched despair.

no warm sun
caressing my smooth skin,
only the  searing frost
of love thwarted.

no cool grass
tickling my naked toes,
only brown damp dirt
of premature graves.

Pastel on Handmade Paper

Pastel on Handmade Paper

© Dawn Whitehand 2016

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2 thoughts on “Dying

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