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DIANA MARIN

CREATIVE WRITER & SOCIAL MEDIA SPECIALIST

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writing and photography

A poem: Wither

I gather tokens of death
in appearance fragile-
with thorns hidden
underneath.

A hand reaches out…
Blood lingers
on thin skin.

Petals burn,
Smoke intoxicates:
you breathe it in.

Funeral words carved
in marble skin-
paralysed,
you listen blindly
as they inhale life.

 

January 4, 2016Diana Marin death, decay, free verse, Photography, photography blog, poems, poetry, writing, writing and photography, writing blog Leave a comment
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