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By The Squeaky Gate
Swish of ripples weave
along a ledge...my hands pretending
to rap beneath inked stars ;
while soft winds chime a lonely chorus
filling the shoreline
with empty rhythm and blues;
the ones which lightly twitch my heart--
Every note jangling, crawling
in this stained night...
for the love I know best
gushes out, unnoticed and aloof,
still I pray " by the squeaky old gate
that tomorrow will find" him...as mine:
seasons pass like long processions
that in final screams of angst,
I learn to dance alone...
Copyright ©
Nette Onclaud
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