Stoic Slaughter

Impermeable layers cloak the most simple of truths
Blocking light and masking all reflection
No tears may pierce this ugly shroud
Instead, they merely fall to the ground
Shed as frozen daggers
In the end
only to stab the heart
of the one who wept them.

That death,
Forms yet another stoic layer,
from the mist rising from the feet of this stony one,
entombing the soul.

© Dave Lawson, 2004

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