Devoid I lay in company
of unquiet as it lingers,
words are lost to a.m. hours’ lips
kissing sweetly, beckoning me.

Cracked, my speech alone it carries
on unto the deaf found within,
seeking homes it never shall find
‘midst unwelcome tunes in passing.

Poetry without the poet’s hand,
desert sands which blind creation,
longing still remains upon the
paths belonging to goals once set.

Penny’s earning for thoughts given
mockingly, sarcasm dripping
disdain that I might be silenced,
words buried then, as ears hear not.


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