twang

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  • Lost Love

    twang

    blisters on my tongue
    words dripping from my feet
    silence speaking of the wrong
    that bitter tells of the sweet
    the eclipse of my day total
    the fire of night disbursed
    the gods have left blame at my disposal
    implicating demons blessing angels who are cursed
    as darkness permeates my day
    the stillness of rage is betrayed
    culminating into a thunder so maddening
    echoing the tranquility that sanity displays

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    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    myar’s Poems (2)

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