Fatal

weathered faces

lined with longing for sleep

they could not love you – they said

no hope left inside

an empty hall of strangers

no meeting of eyes

they are shredded and ragged

torn and fatal

like thorny fields of pot shards

stacked to the end of the sea

slow and deep

sunken,

like long lost Phoenicians

what use are they?

it is too late to save

the already dead.

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