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Dying
I stare, fighting for words, into your hollow eyes.
Beginning to fade I know my demise.
The darkness you contain swallows me, and slowly drains all life within.
While your wings soak in a leaking pen blue, you sit still as it sinks in.
Your own shadows wistfully engulf your presence,
whispering your untold secrets of your essence.
Engulfing us in flame, you don’t stir.
You scorch the ground, and my vision blurs.
A brown haze fills the sky of all you burn,
while you take the air from our breaths, like the sudden prick of a thorn.
You lure your victims in promise of rebirth,
But leave them without a soul to remain.
Leaving their corpse, a body drained of all living,
as the new home for the lifeforce, this so-called rebirth.
Yet you stare.
Hollowing our eyes.
Taking our final words.
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This poem is written in the ekphrastic style on the painting, The Saints of Hampstead Heath.