on the drive to work
sky aglow with wash of sun
the road a river
*
so many worries
things we hope to destroy
silence the quickly
*
your wounds are trophies
you carry in your pockets
stop polishing them
*
fear sneaks through back
doors
and with a zealot’s purpose
you make it your home
*
feet are lead laden
reawaken the dance
prisoner
of hope
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