It is a slow death
the death of soul,
but assured-
too subtle to see.
List the listless
near-misses here
married to the seashore,
sisters of death;
go closer,
they bite.
If their webs carress
you are chilled.
Each strand soothes
a single cell, and
each loss in life
encompassed is
sane only when
approached in the distance.
Question, or they tell.
I am desolate
when you are passed;
crouch in the shadow
where I can see you.

by Jason Paul Fox

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poem written by JASON PAUL FOX.
You MUST credit my authorship when reproducing this poem in any way!
Creative Commons License
Violators are prosecuted, no joke!
I'm living off the generosity of plagiarists now!
(It's OK to give my poem to friends or people at school, if you credit me and don't make money off it)

copyright 2007 Jason Paul Fox