AMONGST THE DEAD

Thick and rough your feet were—
Slave to frequent shift
of track, diverging.

You knew of his resounding footfalls:
wooing the hopeless, teasing cowards—
The reward for a claimed justice
as the condemned confessed a premature passing.

Limbs could be a little too wobbly,
A minute slower— almost converging
with the tip of his toes on your doorstep—
You knew he’d come…

But whatever he came for
slumbered amongst the dead still.

© Gheeneil

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