It roars going out, storms of dread.
Murky smoke emptied from a sickly soul.
Iciness streaks down; the tide is smutty.
Battle hard with papers and torches.
Smoke, please go away to heavens
Where I am not allowed.
Depression, Failure, Fear, Poems, Poetry, recovery, Resistance
This entry was posted on February 6, 2011, 9:47 am and is filed under Poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through RSS 2.0.
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#1 by Jamie Dedes, all rights reserved on February 6, 2011 - 11:35 pm
Sad. Touches the heart … and why “not allowed” …
#2 by Carl on February 7, 2011 - 7:05 am
Thank you for commenting, Jamie. “Not allowed” is a frequent feeling but it does not have to be true.
#3 by Evelyn on February 7, 2011 - 7:58 pm
I’m intrigued that its “heavens”, plural.
you are so invited to my heaven. so there.
#4 by Carl on February 7, 2011 - 11:38 pm
I’ve been trying the wrong heavens! Some are surely to be found here on earth.
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