#415 (necropoles)

the truths and lies

we write off our chests

untying the knots, heavy

breaths steadying once

we flood the necropoles

of our night terrors

with soft orange light

filling the empty coffins

with salt and the holy water

we purified ourselves.

The antechamber stands

ajar, the wind is turning

southwards.

 

© Matthias Geh, 16th July 2018

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