A Pence as Gratuity

A Letter

Dirty shoes approached the door. A master was not found within. The gates were unguarded. Out with your firsts. Gone were the second. Out with the third. The merchants marched.

Set a sail when the moon turns her back on you. See this as a command in retrospect. Only morality can be your guard.

We left with the little we had. I had letters to write. I had friends to invite. Jephthah's daughter had a dance without her bare soul.

We ran. We were running. We were always running. Remember me with a glance at the past. In nostalgia, you bare us. In nostalgia, you gave. In nostalgia, and with a grateful heart, we named ourselves.

We found ourselves dreaming again. We were few in number. We marched as the withered could. I payed for more than I earned. We had sisters we knew not. Morning came and we were not to be found. I carried what I knew to be true. What is mine will never be becoming of you.

May your unbecoming mark my grave. Buried here was a lover of light. We saw them as shadow drifting by. We spent our prayers, earnings on Jewish girls long gone. We formed beads in sorrow.

I sought to write a letter. Unmarked. To a sender beyond the grave. The receipt of these thoughts signaled a closure. The end of my days were well spent, as well as the start, but the middle was ridden with ill-will.

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