she is
ash
and dust
kept
in a cracked porcelain vase
stored
on a shelf
out of the way
burnt offerings
to gods
that
no longer care
to make their presence known
on earth
her ghost wanders
hungry
lacking alms and offerings
haunting
the people she once loved
her name
is spoken in whispers
fewer each year
etched on weather worn stone and
inlaid with flaking gold
but rest for her
comes not
the forgotten
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