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Saturday, November 10, 2012

To Be

The King’s coffin
            mantles the undying being’s mouth
            like innocence taken by whispering raindrops
            donated along the wall of cancer

No notion of cause or well-being
            just there; out of politeness, we share
                            folding chairs to count the numbers,
                            only to brag the statistics in hell

Footprints of one to carry
            when left-to-have footprints
                        disappeared in the murky mud of
                                    “To be.”
©Andrea Laws (Author) 2012