Wisdom We pass\u2014as we like. Unsurpassed graveyards Expect us\u2014just like our mothers once did. Without respect, we tire, retire; our breaths Soon date, expire. We staff our epitaphs. As scripted, we find the stars cool to ash, The sun drops, blood red, into black sackcloth, And all the wind […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":798,"parent":229,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","template":"","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-260","page","type-page","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue13\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/260","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue13\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue13\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue13\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue13\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=260"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue13\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/260\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":696,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue13\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/260\/revisions\/696"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue13\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/229"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue13\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/798"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue13\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=260"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nWe pass\u2014as we like. Unsurpassed graveyards<\/span>
\nExpect us\u2014just like our mothers once did.
\nWithout respect, we tire, retire; our breaths
\nSoon date, expire. We staff our epitaphs.
\nAs scripted, we find the stars cool to ash,<\/span>
\nThe sun drops, blood red, into black sackcloth,
\nAnd all the wind can do is cry. Pity
\nHow without Solace<\/em> is soulless flesh\u2026.
\nGrief<\/em> wells up, washes out our hearts, but tears<\/span>
\nPass away\u2014just as shallow as shadows.
\nEventually, we all crave lilies.
\nAll Hope<\/em> is privately cruel. Suffering<\/em><\/span>
\nDemands a facile enthusiasm.
\nSomething renders our desires fraudulent.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"