Fly
#1
Their thread-thin limbs 
Entwined across the crystalline earth
Of a place not meant for them.


The cemented firmament
Pressed coldly above
As the breath of his lover
Shuddered into nothing.


By what descent did they falter?
What unseen hand evoked 
this gruesome end?


Only their spirits know.


Pregnant with the blood of their victims,
two fleas
mangled together in ruin
Whether by chance or decree


Regarded with disdain
From the beings above.


A shrieking child runs to his parents.
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#2
Hello, welcome to the pigpen.

Please take a moment to read our site rules. All members must first offer critique in the critique forums  (basic, moderate, intensive) before posting a poem in any of the critique forums.  Please catch up.

Thank you,
Quix/admin
The Soufflé isn’t the soufflé; the soufflé is the recipe. --Clara 
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