Hall Of Fame

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Thank God for the big skulled and brain cloaked collections
Draping reminders with crushed velvet ropes 
Selected by laced hands full of primness that once held palms rightly
As life lived a swaying dance that smiled around attention
But now, as if now has ever been such a thing, the freedom sensed
The perennial drift only as a passing scent inhales within
Without awareness that aroma tarnished a union if ever a name was
Spoken of worth the name would be the only word exhaled
With the crepe flared bouncing of vocal cords 

The voice is reason, the prestigious starting of the scales
A forced choice bumping a gravestone into a hidden mound
Unnoticed by most but sniffed by noses with an inheritance
The free radicals archaically live frozen in soft weightless quicksand
Being the darker of fears empty of reality based one on ones
The halls can fill up to the point of combustion showing a face
Not of names but of the essence in art and honor awarded only by death
Leaving the pause to beat hope beneath gold lined procreation
The original certainty known by all to be only a few
But again and again the vastness of nothing smells of decaying breath
The only smell suitable and agreed to reenact plagued fame

 

By: Emily Robbins

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