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The Wrong Side of Relief

One day the sun will shatter,
the clouds will mirror pasts undone,
the world will only weigh seven stone
and I’ll have the strength to carry it all alone.

The graveyards down the road are empty,
it’s been too many centuries since
the last petals withered.
We are autumn and we are day,
we are the memorial underneath
and the monument up above.

A procession with the naked king
is walking down boulevards and avenues,
we’re carrying 6×10²¹ piles of dust
with ever weakening hearts.

We’ve sprayed the ground green for now,
painted trees in a pleasing brown
but we’ve still got the skies to go.
What’s a child’s word for goodbye –
we are winter and we are night,
and we shall not be anything in between.

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