The Singing Dead

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The Singing Dead

Twice removed,

The boy moves through life,

Poppies and death at his door.

He is all Grimm tales & glitter.


I tend the fire in my rags,

But I am beautiful,

Flames at the edge of my skirt,

Violins from the hills,

And he unaware

That I am the queen of swords.


A hundred years ago in the dance hall

I wore a flower on my breast

And moved in absentia.


In between worlds

I was part of the singing dead,

Wayward in the final scheme.


2013-12-10T21:32:46+00:00 Poetry, Uncategorized|

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