Gerard D. Williams

Black spectre, pale ghost
Spirits dancing in the 
Cold night air
We were already dead.
Dark star, black moon,
The ovens took the Children.
I saw no Angels,
only grey ash falling
like flakes of snow
brushing against my cheek.
their last embrace
mingled with my tears.
I tasted their innocence
bitter upon my tongue.
Silent spirits
withered flowers,
turning to shades of grey.
My children burned, 
bright flame
casting their shadow
to light my way.

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