Morning Mists

 

 

 
Unable to endure constant burning
The suffering souls finally find their ways
Out of the topsoil, trying
To rise together
With the summer sun
 
Yet they are dispersed
By its very first rays
Into the darkest moment of last night
Where the ghosts of the newly dead, the invisible
Linger on, staring at one another
No one knows how many of them
Were still holding their authentic
Human shapes, how many of them
Became deformed, agonizing
Between pools of stinking blood
And piles of rotten flesh
 
 
 

 

 

 

 

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