wie zum sterben

Monologue of Lovers;
One contends never to exist, as is necessity of endearing Conversationalists.
Words castes, molds, and shows what’s to discover of each other.

Touch of the Shut-in,
Cold frost thoughts mingled, with those of a summer’s mist.
Running through to grounds around, hark to those akin.

Designed to hold Time,
A clock’s arms link-locked tight tense to tick.
Shoe gazers watch cracks to find prized dimes in the mix.

Disintegrating at pure elegance,
She dances early day just to pull on a dress and necklace.
Proper smile outlined deep red to impress, enacting her relevance.

Lack of audacious Antidote,
A self-wound wrapped bound left to forget.
Layers that bond only to be pulled in two; torn, and then reset.

Absolutist human likely assumed close to the rest;
Comprised of simple puzzles, a simple life -of to think and act- while we stand in ‘present-tense’.

-Until our bell’s been rung for eternal rest.

And at that day,

In so many ways

Others will speak with passionate pride and distraught sentiment.

But we won’t.

 

***

The voice decays into oblivion with the body.  

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