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Crying While Writing Poetry
6 years ago · 0
832
It was then I knew, through a damaged door.
My eyes beyond it's splinters, I found you laying on the floor - with a bed of tulips growing from your fingernails.
The sun rised without you, the newest phantom of our ragged front porch.
And the wind had learned every drawn-out syllable that was your name.
Even in the quiet it whispers.
Passed rosy eyes and snow, I thought many things that shimmered - illuminated small light bulbs that swung (always swinging) in my minds perfect eye.
I spied what had become of us, with two OK's as my binoculars.
Drifting farther from land with a bamboo raft.
Shifting of Earth, hands unlocking.
Shaking me awake to nothing.
But the sun still rised without you.
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