Hands wring
Nothing but themselves to hold
Shroud laid, wrappings made
Spices, ointment, all complete
They have nothing left to them.
Empty light from the rising moon
Colder than tears, colder than stone
Seems to drown the too-warm night
in broken hopes
and dead promises.
And the stone rolls closed
on a void
that we are
still too numb to feel.
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