The pale skin is tightened,
Pulled across the shattered bones,
Wrapped around the once pure veins in vain,
Of shielding from the stones.
The soul's flame is all but ashen,
Just a searing tear of wax,
Falling from a heart that wants no more,
To beat against the cracks.
A spark, charged of age and wisdom,
Laced with all too stunted youth,
Never known a sky so blue as black,
A lie, so false as truth.
Now a solitary whisper,
From the parting of a soul,
Leaving nothing real but memories,
As dust that played its role.
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