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still the wind whispers outside the window but the words it culls there are far different than once spoken to me far from the promise of sun entwined in our lovers embrace of hope enduring in our lovers cage given to wing take flight with the first rays of day celebrate on the turning winds far above the worlds strife dance on the notion that freedom gives grace and beauty is the passport to such places adorned with love and forevermore joys but such is the folly and it cannot live long in the light of day so it has come to pass the shell of our home picked clean of all we called ours all packed neatly and away it has all gone down the road we will follow a rusty old truck held to the road by sheer luck and paperclips we watch it proceed us like a harbinger of joyless mirth we three gather in the empty stained room and watch the motel flicker with life that it never really contains only mimics like a parody meant to smile with but can no longer achieve such man woman and child we sit silent and watch the hours slip by waiting for our time to depart waiting for our release from this rancid and slow decay home
0
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 1:02 AM UTC
shell of our home
still the wind whispers outside the window but the words it culls there are far different than once spoken to me far from the promise of sun entwined in our lovers embrace of hope enduring in our lovers cage given to wing take flight with the first rays of day celebrate on the turning winds far above the worlds strife dance on the notion that freedom gives grace and beauty is the passport to such places adorned with love and forevermore joys but such is the folly and it cannot live long in the light of day so it has come to pass the shell of our home picked clean of all we called ours all packed neatly and away it has all gone down the road we will follow a rusty old truck held to the road by sheer luck and paperclips we watch it proceed us like a harbinger of joyless mirth we three gather in the empty stained room and watch the motel flicker with life that it never really contains only mimics like a parody meant to smile with but can no longer achieve such man woman and child we sit silent and watch the hours slip by waiting for our time to depart waiting for our release from this rancid and slow decay home
written on the greyhound bus we took from Denver to ft lauderdale 3 months ago. I am so glad to be free of Denver...such an oppressive place....
mark-john-junor-1
Written by
59/M/American
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 1:02 AM UTC
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