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A Prison Filled With Smoke

 I drew with a pencil that broke in the middle I drew with the shorter half that choked on the riddle I knew it was going to be harder to hide my fiddle I drew on top of a scar that had been ripped open too far I drew the stitches to cover the leakage in rage I made the lead to break I drew dark glasses to hide my eyes from lies that cover my face I drew empty classes where I teach freedom I knew no one would come and take the risk that it encompasses I drew the bucket  that has holes everywhere I drew the station that never sees a train only the pain of everything passing right through the empty tracks I drew a relation that is always in tension what should I say how should I pay what should I do not to stay I drew a blanket to cover my soul I drew a bullet to destroy the ghoul I knew someone will call me out I knew someone will shout I drew a chair where I can sit and think about being fair I drew a floor filled with gravity of good time smoke gathered around me suddenly, I ...

Where Hands Were Held

Taking the road with legs that shook..
Unfolding the turns like..
Scraps of the lost book.
Kept walking when the same look…
Was right there as it took.
When those leaves were rustling free…
While the wind came gushing right at me.
Arms snuggled..
Overpowered as the path struggled.
Tracing it’s way through the brook.
When words got whispered..
Gasping to take a breath..
You can’t bring back death.
Try fitting into it’s length.
Shining over was the sun naked..
Piling under were scars sacred.
The giggles, the riddles those rides just unafraid.
Laughter echoed while it crossed the acres wide spread.
Yet it felt that it no longer did meld…
Just stood by myself..
Where those hands were held.
Where the one who remains…
Constantly wanders to get a glimpse of it..
All over again.

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