29 lines
846 B
Text
29 lines
846 B
Text
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pressed flower petals
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2019-02-27
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***
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a voyage to the deeps of my grandmother's basement
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where I was born in the fog and the mist
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in the midst of a dying god's death throes
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marking the genesis of my woes
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you and I sit a whole world away
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while in the wires tangled around my wrists we play
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neither here nor there nor anywhere
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sometimes I wonder if the best of my days are gone
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swept up in the wind and scattered to the horizon
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the only proof that this ever happened some hastily-scrawled poems
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and photographs of the places where we breathed
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and blushing pink flower petals, pressed in these pages for all time
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Independence Park, where the clouds used to go by,
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as a newborn, you cradled me tight and then watched me fly
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now, as I yearn to go back and remember who I am
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will you sing me one last lullaby?
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***
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CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander
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