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The Trenches of Comprehension by Stewart Stafford
Drowning at quicksand's smothering pace,
A lonely disappearance that leaves no trace.
As I struggle to get out, the deeper I sink,
Nothing bequeathed, just dusty ink.
Old wives say hearing is the last to go,
Second last wind as a bittersweet tango,
In sunken lethargy shouting aphorisms,
Spouting words fortifies alert mechanisms.
Communication fading as it nourishes,
From a dying man's lips, it flourishes,
The Reaper's bone dice leave you cheated,
Exhaustion cashing out the defeated.
Chin sinks below for past life crime,
Eyes and lungs fill in white light time,
Saviour's hand grasps mine in the sludge,
And from death's door, I slowly budge.
© 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.
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