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Why?

A home for this poet

Maybe one day

there will be a home

for this torn poet,

with a paper vault

to deposit dreams,

and a willing pen

to stitch the seams

Valley of Granite

Even pierced

by our cement daggers

the pulse of its might

beats us inner and breathless

gifting dreams to us all:

the righteous, the wicked...

Oh Shadowless Ones

You will never know darkness

oh, shadowless ones

not even a glimpse of sadness

from you all misery hides

​

My sandals are not fit

to thread your golden trail...

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