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Creative Writing, Prose, Writing

Falling


Grief

Image via Wikipedia

I will fall

my cheeks will gray
as the sky grays a rough autumn
an evening in september

when the birds sing their song of grief
crying for the loss of countless heartbeats
that once asked to be loved;
voices that yelled upwards to the empty skies:
´Love me! for whoever I might be`
before they quieten into the soft darkness
of eternal night.

I will fall

harsh and fast
too fast, too hard!
for a human mind to recognize.
And the pitch-black ground will be the only thing
that captures that moment.

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