It has been days since the rocks held me
Eyeless sockets still gaze my way
Should I opt to lower my head
Over hills of limbs, through valleys of ribs
The echo of hollowed marrow
Sounds its trumpet for miles on end
Sleep is a long forgotten dream
As the ground is now reserved
For the frames of those who there lay
Despite this solemnity,
My view is not one of sorrow, but of spectacle
Because I know of no living creature,
From this world or other,
Who's body these bones would carry.
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