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Memento Mori
unknown

We, a race of stone,
 1
from mud and bone descended
 2
hardened in the baking sun
 3
in life suspended,
 4
upright like the poplar trees
 5
shaped by joy and miseries
 6
set to leave a trace
 7
before our time has ended;
 8
here we stand, alone, until
 9
some thoughtless hand deletes us
 10
and we're gone.
 11

13 Mar 09

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from mud and bone descended, in life suspended, shaped by joy and miseries, before our time has ended; some thoughtless hand deletes us and were gone.
thank you for this piece...j.g.smiles
 — goeszon

you're welcome :)
 — unknown

.
 — unknown

we're often myopic about memento-mori, the end of our story, that last-gasp of surrendering, diving infinitely-in, an unending-ending bending toward a limitless sky --

yet, we see the poet-tree gnarled and askew reaching with its bony-finger to that cloudy-whirl, white on blue, all the while curling-roots around the stones of earth, the muddy star-dust of its birth, sipping nameless elements of course ... yes, it lurches in the wind making leaf-song whimper for the climb, the whine of being locked in Sun drenched dirt, the blood of longing serpents-up its trunk, yes, from deeper turnings where these roots have sunk
 — AlchemiA

two poems with the same title?
 — mandolyn

you painted a great picture for me
 — psychofemale

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