a facade

a corrupt black verdigris
to expose crippled bones
or extant cold dust?
trembling fingers gently
gloss this marred surface
afraid to show
what I already know.
Osiris, God of the Dead.
Labels: poem
A nattering nabob against nascent nihilism, but certainly not consonance. The blog has expanded in many directions all at once to include poetry, pictures, and discussions of philosophy, current events, music, politics, government, and military affairs.
Labels: poem
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