Of Elders and Ancients

The refuge doesn’t exist –

in its stead –

are landscapes and crumbled paths.

 

Silence moves on the flank –

the trumpet sounds –

as death envelopes

the mourners

with the tacit reminder

that this place –

ain’t our home.

 

Tomes of sorrow

and tears that drown –

when the

Elders join the Ancients.

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