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What Must Be Done
Demanded from yesterday
An old oak tree wilts atop the hill
Cold winter came upon us
Set forth this bone chill

Decapitated crow scowls
Thin ice cracks below feet
Dead leaves scatter in the wind
Soulless about to defeat

Distant church bells chime
An echo of sadness sweeps across frozen land
Funeral procession marches
Boat across Styx isn't even manned

Desolate unknown graves blanket us
Alienated from mother's womb
Hollow wooden coffins contain us
Vacant heart is sealed in a tomb

Damaged bricks form a facade
Footsteps in mud lead nowhere
Failing to see the door ajar
Plummeting into a spiral of despair

Dangerous falling of fate
Home now empty of life
Sparse and silent of rhythm
Bled from head to toe with knife

Descent into depths of loneliness
Burned by a beloved's deception
Nailed by foot, nailed by wrist
Born of immaculate conception

Damned wings are delicate
Ground caught daily tears
Soaked earth flourished
New trees sprout for years

 David Greg Harth