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family poetry

let me be sad
at dawn, he said
desolate and lone
when the hours of day are numbered
as a white candle
i saw with open eyes
evidenced in the glimmer in your eyes
i know what you're going to say
in his guarded tent
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
who will be naming the wind
the arches of the red bridge
no prey am i of poor thoughts

 



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