While coal dusted skies settle in veils
come outlines of children, silvery pale.
Faces like moons with tangerine tint
eyes hollow worm-holes, devoid of life’s glint.
Frozen tears are scattered on skeletal chins
forming transparent marbles to capture their sins.
They wander through clearings to find their way,
their souls desert them so they no longer play
and fly up to the sky like widowed doves,
tiny white angels to capture lost loves.
They beckon, necks bent at crooked angles
hair knotted and stiff in mud entwined tangles,
and with hollow mouths and poisonous tongues
they murmur the words, ‘forever stay young’.
For those who have lost the words are appealing
to linger on in a casket of grieving.
As this is the choice of these child-like ghosts
who never got over those they loved most,
and the roses will rot, the ivy will weep
for these restless beings forbidden from sleep.
As the wind bends its knees and slumps to the ground
they dreadfully creep without making a sound,
dammed evermore to paths that are dark
on the frost ridden ground they leave no mark.
Even stars cannot bear it, closing their eyes
so that no hopeful twinkle remains in the skies.
As their sorrow unites and begs you to stay
Which path will you chose –darkness or day?
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