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The Woman in White Marble

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Solitary Pilgrim

I sit in the Sahara Desert. Contemplating.

After the war to end all wars finished.

Sun tracing my back. Wishing the world was flat.

All human life vanished in an instant.

Some animals left angry and confused. I their master.

I have the last flower picked from a field in Iran.

Dried and placed between the pages of a book.

I drank the last drop of water from the Indian ocean.

Surviving on tears, till they dried too.

So here I sit. Solitary Pilgrim. The only one with a key.

And always the last to leave.

Slowly the world rotates whittling itself down to an

Apple core. I too whittle away until nothing remains.

And from all around me I hear laughter.


Copyright © 2018 David Swan