Mark R Slaughter (1957)

Be gentle, sky, and let me rest -
These bones are worn - they lack the zest
Of flesh in life - they're marrowless! -
Their arid surface, nakedness! -
Betrayed in death; no sheen of red
From coursing blood; and blue was shed
Upon the fading out of eyes
That cased the world and gave disguise
To what my deepest thoughts had been -
But now I'm done with all I've seen.


Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011











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The Rain of Death

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