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5/24/2011 12:52:53 AM
simple poem really, so there's no title yet.
Drenched by the breath of summer heat, I’ve decided
to dig for the bullets of words you lodged in my brain. It is true
you are not special.
You do not possess the hands that could sculpt
a mountain. Or the voice that could forge the sound
of autumn rain. The glare of your smile does not offer
the same gentle pain, as the flares of the sun. And your eyes
are not the diamonds locked inside a crippled chest, asleep
between the toes of an ocean.
you are not at all
special. You are only the air that is free for anyone
to breathe, the same air that I borrow for my petty needs. And
yes, you are most definitely not special.
For if you choose to disappear
inside a vacuum, even for just a while...
I and the lungs you gave life,
will empty into a void. And nothing
in my finite existence can ever
call you home.
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