s
c a t t e r e d
on
the ground lie those bones,
on
the soil,
on
the stones,
and
just above life's toils,
and
love isn't a game,
to
be played with fragile fragments,
it
isn't something of shame,
to
be handled like glass bits,
and
the crayons melt,
as
the blood sheds,
the
art gone; killed,
as
the birds nest in their beds,
the
passion gone forever,
the
sacrifice laid to rest,
as
obsession fades to a burning fever,
death
being our very own guest,
the
thoughts of men are scattered,
darling
you live in a cruel world,
all
who walk the streets battered,
lost
souls just looking for gold,
there
on the ground lie our bones,
the
ones that were once held by flesh,
where
blood pumped through with musical tones,
and
where love bloomed with a hush...
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