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Rusty Broadspear

The bride and groom leaned at an odd angle

Full of sorrow and forlorn.

A dove parted from sticky roots and fell

The room, unused and worn.

Icing cracked, dry, turning brown

Tiers ready to fall like tears

Beaded decoration littered the table

Amongst untouched food and bottled beers.

Music waiting, but absent.

Laughter, happiness lurking, but hadn't arrived.

Dust on surfaces, floating in shafts of sunlight,

Expectancy dead, nothing survived.

The bride and groom tilted once more.

Trying to dance? Or trying to die?

A clock ticked and tocked

Indifferent, nonchalant, not asking why.

Insects batted windows

Sensing a feast beyond their grip.

Then the cake sadly tumbled

Sending the unwed couple into their final trip.

Amidst crumbs, fruit and brittle icing

Resting in their terminal destination.

Hand in hand, forever staring upwards,

Empty of thought or fascination.

A bowl of fruit topped with an orange

Teetered on the verge of collapse.

The orange fell, rolled silently, disturbing knives, forks and spoons,

Hitting the unwed couple and perhaps

Momentarily, shocking the scene into wakefulness.

But all remained as still as death.

This bright room was dulling with time.

With no kiss of life and no life giving breath.

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