1. Gone

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I was under the old oak tree all alone,
The wind drifting by me everyday without care.

Cold gravestone by itself along the lake, Old leaves crunching under bare feet is the sound stuck in my head.

I could tell by the anonymous gifts that were given, was from you.
It spins and sings with no groove of mine.

And I will fall asleep like you.
My skin will become dry and dainty hands will no longer bleed, my clothes will rot and fall away on dry bones.

My eyes will no longer be their icy cold blue, we will not get to do our dances by the waters edge again.

I could tell when you looked away from the nothingness of my face the person you know is no longer me.

I hear the chatter of earth's parasitee, for they alone shall feast.

By A. Gordon

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