poetry

Ash

Can you hear the beat of her heart at dusk?
It crumbles silent, to no more than dust
A broken relic of what was before
Bruises and welts, infected, left sore

Silk silver trails of streams tinged black
Tumbling down mountains, no going back
A waterfall cascading ice down her face
Her heart will always be dead last in the race

Ashes at dusk laid, lost, on the floor
A body left empty, cast off ashore
Tears will run dry and the soul will move on
But her heart, it is broken, some of it gone

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