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Eric W Sep 2018
Days like today
when the world is too much,
and every sound grates against my nerves,
every responsibility weighs too heavy,
and the only comfort is in these lines,
where it is sheer force of will to move,
to work and seek and to love,
when it is much easier to fall,
to sink and sleuth
into the floor
and let it all go,
I cannot.
Eric W Sep 2018
What pages do you flow between
like a draft through an open door,
through mine and others’,
a perfect line on an otherwise
smudged page?
Eric W Sep 2018
I don’t want to be left drifting again,
compared to shadows when
there’s no comparison
to you.
We speak truth in our actions,
and we have found ours
in the patterns
we behold to the other,
somewhere in the space of
the morning air and the starry night,
we place our whispered thoughts
into the universe to be heard
so that we can ease our troubled minds.
Be mine,
and I’ll be yours,
and let’s run from stepping stone
to trails covered in pine needles
where we bed for the night,
only us,
under the stars and heaven
above.
  Sep 2018 Eric W
East Wind
Hands on my head, panicked.
Heart rhythm indicates:
Exhausted.
Eric W Sep 2018
You run through my thoughts
like rain,
creeping, seeping,
soaking
me
through.
Eric W Sep 2018
Burning pages sit heavy
on a bedside table
into the night -
their light the only,
and purposefully so.
You walk past without candor,
eyes aimed into the world
yet seen.
The light fades from the burning pages,
and you start.
What is that?
A shuffle in the room,
a twinkle in the stars.
A door slams in the distance,
echoing in the walls
surrounding.
You thumb the ashes,
how they still feel warm and silky,
and then brush your cheek.
Where have my words gone today?
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