Fate of the Living

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A carpet of husks, emptied

Of their purple,

Rolled out for walkers.


With every press they choke up their blood --

An invisible, sap-stained breath

Stains the floor.


Purple buds drop from twigs above.

Plucked down by the wind, they rot

Underfoot, unheard, unseen.

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⏰ Last updated: Jan 30, 2019 ⏰

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