4
going through the gats of irony
that aren't even gates at all
no barriers to block me
no body to foresake me
no tears or cries to slow me down
no landscapes to pause me
no transportation to push me
only the dull tread of my feet
to guide me along
on seemingly long paths
in time that never stands still.
Copyright © Kenna Nunnery | Year Posted 2011
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