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As It Is

The helicopter is tired of poking its probiscus into the dam In the fields the harvesters are looking for somewhere to rest a while As you climb your stairwell to heaven on every other floor you hear applause once it was the echoes of despair but now your bike has no gears and the shavings of your mind you used to use for fuel have all burnt up and the helicopter is tired again the stairwell has become a labyrinth and the harvesters continue not to find rest but the probiscus has given you a fever that if you were a child it would have finished right there but you keep climbing like the smoke driven ever upwards by the heat of the inferno way down below but that's as it is.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2012




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Date: 7/9/2014 12:08:00 AM
Uwe, Congratulation, on having your poem featured on the soup's home page. Always & Forever ~LINDA~
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Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry