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Memory's reincarnation;
with remembrance of affliction and a
memorial to your untimely end.
Lone candle flame,
wept a smoke shroud against your tarnished picture frame.

Through tear-choked eyes I
extend a hand, obscuring the smoke's path.
But in attempt to ascend it
curled, under my palm outstretched.

You were
Trapped. Hostage,
in the cage of my grasp. Bound
by my grief; mured in purgatory.

I release my grip,
and begin the search for a moral to this story.
where I set my grief ablaze and watch it
burn, burn, burn away.
To only observe as you become both fuel and inferno.

Yet, beyond regret, my only wish is to douse this, in threnody.
And I would, were it not hindrance to your
sanctity.
©2009 ~Viris
:iconviris:

Author's Comments

23/04/06

Re-submitted because someone new is here to read.

I think this is the first real poem I wrote. I'm sorry I never knew my grandma, and I'm not angry anymore.

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:iconaimless--drifter:
I could cry :( :(
actually, rephrased; i WOULD cry, if i physically could..

How are you so good at poetry?? it's so difficult, and awkard... :hmm:

anyways, :hug:

xx

--
Everyone deserves the chance to FLYYY

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