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Poetry: The Music of Death

Your gravity sits atop you,

cold and crushing.

Silence sips into every pigeon-hole cranny in your skin

and eats the warmness within.

Brackish bitterness crawls under your layersm

finding only temporary escape when you effuse venom...

Your lung are raspy ash-

Sharp, cold, stinging knives

slip into your core


like bare fists violently kissing your ribs

over and (over),


Then you die,

you die,

you DIE...


a faint glimmer slams you awake,

you rise from the raspy ashes,

gravity now absorbed.

Light strobes outward

from the cracks on your soul.

Your voice becomes the croon of turtle doves,

Your lungs fill with pristine rivers...

You learn to dance

to the music of silence

-step, hop, leap-ing

over emotional landscapes.

Your memories are galaxies;

glints of perfectly misplaced age.

Your energies lance testily

at the oceans

(reflecting the burning purity of Apollo)

You rise (clad in bandages),

dancing to the chaotic tune

that stops only

at death...

by: Gabriel Ògungbadẹ́


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