My place on the shelf
has turned dusty and old
hands of the clock turn
yet my breath grows cold
Smother me with silence
in this night’s cool air
smooth my rigid corners
for time has not been fair
wind blowing softly
lost in her sweet time
withstand bitter yearning
from this lost soul of mine
Heart, lonely and stale
just as fruit on the vine
left to linger past harvest
like this wretched life of mine
Close off the passage
turn the last latch key
draw breath, so bitter
my captive spirit, set free
Copyrighted by Kentucky Dreamer
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1 comment:
Very nice stuff there, KD. I had seen this one before, but I think you tweaked it a little since.
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