Monday, May 9, 2011

Tough Ground

I didn't know what time has done when a building of rust was created.
It lasted for about three years until someone got cut, bled, and died.
Drained of life and soul, no one could keep you.
You wallowed in fallow dirt and grimy soil.
I constructed an immaculate grave stone that stands there
commemorating the death you owned.
Surrendering details of digital filth,
weeds crowd the stone
no one sees it now.

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