Old box,
Chains and locks,
Magic lair, putrid air,
Contrived night, shafts of light
Peer through musty cracks;
Back pain, blood stains,
Prideful fear, sweaty tears;
Fists beating against ancient panels,
Holding onto the dream.
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Out of our quarrels with ourselves, we make poetry. (Yeats)
NOLI ILLEGITIMI CARBORUNDUM
1 comment:
feeling cheerful today darling?
Loving the poetry. xxx
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