Feast On Bones

There is a cemetery above the city,

On a hill above the shops and bars.

Old graves where once a church stood.

The world forgets and feasts on bones.

 

Late at night, as it all goes still at last.

I sit among these forgotten remains.

Above the city, and below the stars,

I can dream of angels and of escape.

 

Ghosts might welcome you to hear.

Whispers and sensations of losses.

We forget so easily, push it away.

The world forgets, and feasts on bones.

 

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