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Amelia Blackledge Poem
Anticipation, a stage encapsulate in time.
He takes the burden of my all my wrongs and
the blame for all my transgressions.
I read the words in your eyes, I taste your facial pity.
But you are all the lighted fools, for I am not Macbeth, and my tomorrows are tomorrows.
My life is not a "walking shadow" and I am not a " poor player. "
I bask in certainty, just as the hog predicts the spring,
I hold back the finish.
Copyright © Amelia Blackledge | Year Posted 2021
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Details |
Amelia Blackledge Poem
Revered old lady, tell me a story about a time that you knew
Something borrowed, something old, something blue.
A time hidden under waters deep.
A village drowned, tasted when waters retreat.
Those waters on which innovation danced, saving a nation from an enemies advance,
Of sacrifices made
Now let me tell you a story about how freedom is played.
Copyright © Amelia Blackledge | Year Posted 2021
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