Poetry
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She holds curtains Before her trailing eyes, Then asks the world, “Where were all those loathsome goodbyes That never came, before the end?” Trails come as journeys To tears, never-ending. For her, life threw turns to her, Sobbing beneath the blackest veil Thrown over trembling shoulders. Her neck is a bath For the bucket, the…
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We had lacked All we can grant back To men upon their sailing oceans That reside In their despondent eyes. They cry waves To the maidens whose devotion they gave Upon the furthest lands across From themselves, in the saddest miles Of whole loneliness. In speaking of dust, There can be spoken of silver Gracing…









