Saturday, September 27, 2014

Quiet Grief

Cries of boyhood angst
Are free 
From my bitten tongue 

Yet no truth prevails
No heartache can crawl 
From the ruins 
Of my war-torn conscience 

The toll
Of harbored sorrow 
Shall beckon forever more 

Never daring to clamor 
For the waiting arms 
Of the crude and heinous world

Never to draw 
The care of roving eyes 
That have seen 
All of the same

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