There was a battle here
Anchored in the seabed
A boat swinging in the storm, creating wakes like white flowers
Brief blooms obliterated by black water
peace to you
Poetry
Anchored in the seabed
A boat swinging in the storm, creating wakes like white flowers
Brief blooms obliterated by black water
I did it to myself
Buried evidence in my flesh
Sang no more, denying music
At least a decade of numb decay
Spent dying of security
Behind me wreckage lies
Before me cinders fly
I used to think I knew so much
And that was just yesterday
Am I already singing? Is that my voice or hers? My image in the mirror looks the same, pleasantly unglamorous, growing slowly older. Except that now there is gold dust on my lips. I smile. I can’t help it.
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