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autumn dived into springtime's passing with winter arriving on the very cusp of decay. a pair of hands laid before me, limp and frostbitten on the whitewashed snow, speaking of dreams louder than a war horn's regal cry. i watched a puff of hot air escape your lips, dispersing into a trail of vagrant tendrils, evanescent. knowing it was your last breath, i bit mine to stifle the cacophonous silence, as if also to bid you a tacit goodbye. yet the flashback of your childlike laughter clung onto my ankles like fallen naked branches. as i knelt with knees pressed into the yielding snow, i pulled my frozen fingers over your wistful eyes, praying that hollow rhythms would revive you. in your new robe of weightlessness, your spirit is endless.

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The following comments are for "pseudo-poetic melancholy?"
by inundatedgrace

Beautiful language
I wouldn't say pseudo-poem here, some may disagree but I'd say this is prose and therefor is certainly a poem. But as the writer, I think its completely up to you.

As a reader I'm very satified. 'new robe of weightlessness' is a great phrase. -Philo

( Posted by: Philo [Member] On: November 8, 2004 )

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