The Resurrectionist

Soil broken through, soft and drowning.

Mineral deposits implode the cracks and crevices.

Life stopped awhile back and measured the simplicity of age with wood grain.

Lifetimes of love vanquished into an eternity of darkness.

The man with the pale brown eyes lingers over the fresh new doorway entrenched into the Kentucky Blue,

“Live again to replace what I have lost. The duty maybe unjust, but no one knows of this pain called loneliness.”

With burning tears enveloped in grief, the soil lay broken once more.


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