DEATHA woman who dreams of deathIs sitting in her room aloneWhile the clouds and the starsThat once saw the quiet fumesOf warReach out to grasp one anotherAnd stifle that fireBut the distinct formsAnd multitudesIn blursTakeoff racing in the earthen boundariesNever counting The parts they killedAs they were air-drivenWithin the velvet cores of her galaxy
-Trisha North
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