Paper soles and cardboard laces
Charcoal words in darkened places
Ceilings of glass
With hale storms looming
Dormant volcanoes
And we, unassuming
Mountain Laurel flowers
As pretty as can be
Stems of death
Laced in beauty
A bottomless pit
Or so he believed
When the bottom fell out
His grave misdeed
Not conjured, but real
In this final breath
No longer to feel
The irony in death
Kevin Parish 
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