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artefacts

old trinkets lined
in black, emerald, and red
they whisper and breathe
all kinds of nostalgic,
whimsical tales – i wonder if
they have lead
me to your owners –
long dead,
roaming somewhere in
the night skies for
a new home
instead of resting peacefully –
choosing to haunt me
with unanswered questions
flying kites in the empty,
open starlight in my head
___
backdated Post a Day poem for April 12th, 2017

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