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Pendulums

The pained pendulum pushes through the fog With the ever-crashing splash of rheumatic guilt Licking at the swinging bronze from below. We lose God again and again In the cluttering of thoughts Like the burnt wings of butterflies Over-used, over-driven, and Over-flapped and now here Festooned to a wheelchair he sits Staved and dying from stale love. And needing my help.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2009




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Date: 4/7/2009 1:28:00 AM
(god is the child in the wheelchair...be nice...)
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Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry