The skull lies desolate
on the bare mountain side.
Just lies there among the rocks. 
Lies still with a few accompanying bones.
Each day it decays as wind and rain weather it
and destroys its form and substance so that it wastes
away and fades into the landscape and decays.
If it had come to rest lower down the mountain
it would have sunk into the boggy peat moss
and risen with hair and hide intact with,
the cause of death discernible, with
its last meal of grass or rabbit
still there inside its stomach.
Preserved by nature.
Preserved or wasted.
It all depends on
where you

ACROSS THE OCEANS II (ISSUE 7) Three Poems by Lynn White CANDLES How many candles must I light to commemorate all the dead souls, all the lives wasted in wars without end. So many that candle makin…


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