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See the years
Dust collecting
In our souls
Brush them away
In one swift motion
Where pain is stored
In pockets
And soft velvet pouches
Whose drawstrings
Tightly constrict
Hopes of love and tenderness
Cut them away
In precision
Tranquil shadows warming
Sweep fragments
Of longing memories
Tempered passions
To self-consuming
Where pain negates pain
The blood flows
In warm liquid
Red jewels
Sticky sacrifice
To this
Demanding monster
Temporarily sated
On living essence
Of the body’s
Burgundy wine
It slinks
Back to the pit
Protected by its armor
Of this human wall
Of scar tissue
This living canvas of pain…

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I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
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I love this poem. We carry so many memories with us throughout our lives. The negative seem to stay on the back burner and pop up at different times. I often wonder why we just can't forget but there must be some lesson we need to either learn or remember. You captured their existence beautifully!

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exactly so. and we cannot move on until it is known and accepted...sometimes it is something so small...that when we finally see it we smack our heads in realization! thank you!

*hugs, Cat

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