The Haunted

In terse reflections of heartfelt delusions
Under morose twilights of caged despair
Stay haunted souls beside open wounds
For ghosts beloved may yet trudge back
In glittering plaques with long lost names
Or headstones quiet with withering grace
Flicker memories soaked in sepia flawed
That savagely burn in bosoms hollow
Thus fifty-seven winters have ravaged by
The dim mausoleum of a mother’s hope
And fifty-seven more may still light by
Their invincible pyre of glorious despair


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