The death of love, a silent execution.
No witnesses observed or walls plundered.
Comes silent with a word or act.
A crushing blow and violent crack.
The wound won't bleed, or bed require
it nestles close within the eyes.
A living corpse, like wilted flower
Moves through moments, days and hours.
A shadow falls in daylight broad.
A smile may surface as artful fraud.
No backward glance or living lie
can hide such pain or resurrect a life.
Does mercy move or kindness cry
Within a soul buried in night?
Forgiveness of a vast regret
can climb a precipice's turret.
High above the crumbling fall
It's there the wounded heals from all.
This is a freewrite from @mariannewest using today's prompt resurrect
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