Friday, August 5, 2011


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Unsure the way to turn.
More than a little apprehensive,
The lessons I'm yet to learn.

Dark and blood-shot,
Are tired eyes.
Lungs exhausted,
From expelling cries.

A back that already feels tired,
As soon as it rises from the bed.
A mind weary of pondering,
The questions in this head.

In sight a new horizon.
Many doors I don't care to open.
Because a soul does get tired,
Of loss in hoping.

11 2 07

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