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Jordan Bledsoe Poem
Late once more,
with feet unsure,
he stumbles.
Screams at his wife,
in a life full of strife,
and she crumbles.
Far from his words,
thinking in blurs,
he mumbles.
It's a game not to fall.
Her love is the ball
that he fumbles.
He glares with glazed eyes -
A slave to his vice.
Copyright © Jordan Bledsoe | Year Posted 2008
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