Beneath the crossroads

And when from the grave,
the birth of everlasting,
the sorrow is no longer
Gentle mists of alabaster
embrace and caress
life anew
For to come undone,
no longer
Transcending the forgotten,
the spires of dread that nest within,
now, light all but withers
Though sugar-wisps strain, striate
and a tear
though happily
Dead among
beneath the crossroads

© 2016

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