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WORDS MY WAY

Sorrow is sometimes a reuge for those who hastily speak words of evasion. The truly sorry find their home in houses built with the bricks of guilt, and sometimes they themselves are the architects. Have you passed through these doors? The morter runs slow, the concrete settles, be careful not to let this foundation harden. What we believe is discovered and not chosen. "Only do, there is no try." I find beauty in rising suns where heaven and earth become undiscerned, where still waters become as mirrors inspiring introspection and slowing pulses. I find beauty in rolling fields where lonely dogs salvage bones and maybe a friend. The beauty in pain. The beauty in nonsense. 1+1=3. What is real about the real world? I find only facts constructed from the remnants of desolation with fear as their inspiration. I live guided by silent sounds telling me I'll be okay. The living dead come to me at night with two intentions, one to seek the other to destroy. I see their guarded duality and I am compelled to reach out my hand. When it is returned to me I find only a bloody stump with their teeth clinging to my sacrifice. I am a mirror and I am lonely. Will they return? Hopefully in time. When they do I'll greet them the same as before and know what was lost will be returned to me. Mummified in my own fear, with haste I begin the unraveling. I find I can only go so far. Stabbing knives draw lines in the sand daring me to cross, I find I'm to weak. You who have ears to hear, are you listening? Jumping the gun where no bullet is found, rumors fester into facts. Undaunted I run to meet you half way. Find me where I am.

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