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Object poem
- Megan Neuman
- Apr 6, 2019
- 1 min read
Moving On
The charred powder
gathered in a pile
of erased photographs.
Warm moments ignited
to be left cold,
still filled my lungs
with weight.
The black unforgiving dust
shifted in the wind.
As they took air,
remnants seemed
to call out my name
one last time.
The ashes soon faded away.
Along with the time we had together.
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