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Plague Came Swift To Me On Valentine

Plague came swift to me on Valentine,
Obscuring my throat and nose with prickled thorn and vine
A drought, yet drizzle, its acid on my movement, its desert on my tongue
Made all run, that vile plague, in its quivered earthquake of silence, its very psyche and force
Made all run, that vile plague, its mass like dirt, its actions like time
Made all run, that vile plague, as it devoured, showered, neared, leered, and watched its grievance
Plague came swift to me on Valentine, many a curse in hand

Plague came swift on Valentine, bouquet in hand, a bouquet of roses and rings
Roses be rung of blood and end
Their garden my tomb, my grave, my skin
1 rose of love, 2 rings of blood, 3 roses of end, 4 more rings descend
Red running rampant, green running twine
Roses in bloom in meadow, meadow upon all London of mine

Plague came swift to me on Valentine, no locket, but a pocket, a pocket full of posies
Their heads an ocean to my world, the ground to my scents
Their buds my bridges to sprint upon, their waves destructive to cover….
The smell of tearful shards from the panes of memories shelter, maw gapping, flapping, in the retched fleshed wind, wooden faces empty, brick facades hollowed, bases tumbling on speechless unmarked gravel
The smell of broken souls departing their sound, shadowed waking hours, corner by corner life cowers, burnt lights roaming with tattered wires
The smell of closed eyes, pale figurines, and decaying temples,
hollowed sockets, ensnaring limbs, clasping hairs, and mounds of past, and futures sight
The smell of torn ground by grieving hands at death’s demands
The smell of roots thriving on what was awake, but now for God to take

Plague came swift to me on Valentine, with dunes of spirit in hand….. ash
An infinite hallo shriek to internal questions, a break of bounds by double-edged decline, mortal to anguish and demise to ash
Forsaken be our hearts, cataclysmic be our happiness, demolished be our spirits, and a state of conclusion our lives
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, ashes….to ashes….dust….to dust

Plague came swift to me on Valentine, Fall its cloak and stead
Rag and silk last sung with chaos’s echoes
Arrows twisted and contorted anew to shade, morning’s hue fainted to twilight’s dusk, and upon grass fields and empty streets, last lost the broken feet of withered beings
The flourished and the withered, alas they last no more, they fell upon tethered ruins, and fled a broken society, they departed all that splintered, which in wake left all to shatter


Plague came swift to me on Valentine, black box in hand, a coffin for my making, all for me, right when I died.




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