Perhaps
I’ve learned to mourn
But not rejoice.
I know the wail,
But not the lifted voice
Of joy.
Do
I forget I live
In the throes
Of victory?
On the bones of foes
Picked clean
and white washed
by decay and the elements
of Truth?
Perhaps
I’ve learned to mourn
But not rejoice.
I know the wail,
But not the lifted voice
Of joy.
Do
I forget I live
In the throes
Of victory?
On the bones of foes
Picked clean
and white washed
by decay and the elements
of Truth?
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