183. Laying Claim

The ash he from the blast
fell to Earth
like a pleasant fog
coating the world
in a grey pall.

A half-hopeful reaper
laying claim to the small portion
of world
its boney fingers can grasp.

Footsteps disappearing
(as though they ever were)
under thick clustered black flakes
choking a small empire
of sun-fed masses
in a type of beauty
reserved singly
for decay.

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