the lost man chronicles

stray soles found

what bare naked soul
goes gallivanting, prancing, dancing
barefoot and gleeful amongst
the chiseled stone?

what sprit roams and careens
riding upon a warm death,
gliding upon her own last breath,
a brazen shutter of ecstasy?

what ghost of bold beauty
traverses the blades,
wading through everglades
of fall becoming and boy wonder?

what glimmer of fluttering light unseen
leans, braced against a pillar of green
leaves falling, autumn calling
for life to come again?

what and why and when
do we live and die again
when we fall in love with the shade
of lost love never found?

and so, why do we fear everyday dying
if we already know we’ll be lying,
more sooner than later,
six feet underground?

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