Never4long
The pangs of hunger
racking your every sense
dulling you from over use
is but temporary.
The slow decay
and setting rigor mortis
freezing your last stance
is but temporary.
That burning feel
of numbing digits
from wrist to finger tips
is but temporary.
The longing feel
of emptiness
of lost love flooding your heart
is but temporary.
The suspense
of this poet's thriving angst
is but temporary.
Copyright © Malcolm Dyer | Year Posted 2007
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