a device for the soul

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you can’t fly away with broken wings

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puncture through tired and brittle skin
feels so much better now, flowing in
and dripping down to seep beneath
weary sediment, dust, scattered debris
from a rusted horizon rending the skies
filled to saturation with desperate moans
of words so sure are not our own
but we’re sure to survive to see that
the sun grows weak from shining on and on
upon the stained and wretched remains
of a desire so deep and so old
the life-support of a dying thing
where nothing can be done but
pull the plug on a good thing gone wrong
just lingering on, scared to live life alone
frightened to think we’re on our own


Written by 2ndhandsoul

December 17, 2007 at 4:13 am

Posted in poetry

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