Faces
--

Each holds a story book of
years passed by in a hurry.
Haunting melodious memories,
crystal tears,
granite fears,
gossamer dreams,
piercing screams.

Smell the pain on their breath,
like cheap beer in their death.
Turning cold.
Cold
as December on the street.
Ice frozen in the faces that we meet.
Drawing Parallels
Light and AntiLight
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