Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

No lilacs this time

"No lilacs this December,"
Her voice spoke against this frost.
Frigid and raspy,
She hunts down her cane
And hobbles along the gravel road.
She shakes, shriveled
Bones knocking together,
Dispersing pain.
She grabs my hand,
her fingers twiglike and sharp.
I know her time is limited,
I can tell by her
Death rattle cough and
The wheezing from her lungs,
Enough to hurt my own chest.
She grabs a chain from
Her pocket, a golden necklace.
"Reminders of sin," her
Haggard words spit themselves
Upon my face.
These lost words I wipe away,
And she smiles a clairvoyent grin.
She smells of dried rose petals
And musk; it burns my nsoe.
She speaks again, her voice
Is hollow and at dusk,
She no longer exists.


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No lilacs this time

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