Life is often just vignettes,
of colour, silence
and broken shadows.
Death comes
as black emaciated spots
on white snow:
blood strained dark, often
bodies bereft of blood.
Hearts save stories
from the freezing hell of nothing
for a kiss of redemption,
not knowing that
dreams die first.
Refugees from life
find their sun with tangled tails
on musty damp walls -
they survive in the eyes of innocents
being charred alive.
And off-kilter music fills caverns,
as broken notes join hearts,
& humans find beasts in themselves -
and kindness finds
victims.
And people like us,
blessed with breath,
orphans to ourselves,
see losses in our riches &
death in every spurt of blood.
And the magicians of survival,
obstinate to give,
faithful to the air,
sisters of flowers,
the reason itself for life's creation.
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