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The Living Dead

'Tis like the quiet early morn
When a chill is in the air
To surround and then engulf
With melancholia and despair
'Tis like a ship on waters' grey
With ocean swells meant to entomb
Though a knife doth pierce the heart
Blood egresses from the moon
'Tis like an iron sarcophagus
Sailing waters to nowhere
Imprisoning suffocation doth
Impede the soul to bare
'Tis like a graveyard of the sea
Whose only skeletal remains
Equipped with living flesh
Devoid of love and all its pain
'Tis the rattle of last breath
Relinquished slowly on death bed
'Tis the man without a soul
Condemned to live though he be dead

Tamara Beryl Latham