white-eyed ravens dot the sky,
they mourn the day you didn’t die,
vital bodies snatch subsistence,
shorten starving birds’ existence.
souls worth more gone than alive,
cut from widows by the Scythe.
mistruths and veils transfigure sighs,
but pain is murdered by the lies.
in truth the end is not unkind;
grotesque means nothing to the blind.
the journey’s never truly finished,
the road just ceases to…
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