Testament

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I stand and stare disinterestedly

At a cynical moon.

I have not the courage

Nor the breath

To howl.

I lower my eyes

Staring through the mist,

In the distance.

My sins

Hold vigil.

Huddled together

As if for warmth.

Maybe they wait for penance,

Or my recognition

Of their pain.

Too late, too late,

My breath and blood

Are silent.

Bury me not

In warm earth

Earth needs sustenance,

Not poison.

Sing no hymns,

Chant no religious platitudes

To lift my soul.

They have not the strength

To lift such weight.

Simply turn

And walk away,

Cursing the day

Your eyes

Lit upon mine.

                          _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Owain Glyn


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