I face me today and
there’s dark portent
in and surrounding the
circles my eyes do rend.
Off focus and bruised is
my straight line of sight
that spectacularly plots
to start cunningly conive.
Behind my eyes there are
places that are too weak.
Jaded and torn I know
it’s easy for me to weep.
What I can believe in,
from some stories told,
are not the truthes I
believe in in my soul.
I am no virgin to the
notions that exact pain.
It’s why my translation
often turns out to be vain.
I am a thief I do steal
looks with curious desire.
Then pretend I do to
forget what reddens my ire.
Me I question myself
questions with great fears.
Am I myself I ask myself
releasing heartfelt tears.
I admire your ability to turn pain & fear into such beautiful poetry. *Hugs!*
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Thanks again Kristian!! Appreciate it.
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Very impressive.
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Thank you Katherine!!
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