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Truckers

I don't know where, if it will end.

Refuse to voice or recommend.

To treat what ails us is pretend.

Slips through fingers apprehend.

 

To help more than to hurt,

reflexive sunny disposition

which can cradle sallow sleeping stoic pride.

Distinguishing the dirt,

collective run beside conviction;

acting ladle heavy, heaping, terrified.

 

Leave things better than you found them

Received our debtors stand; surround them.

 

I wonder if to soothe what ail,

under apprehension prevail.

Therein lies each us, our grail -

our demons sinking in each nail.

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Written by
atypnoc
Published
Feb 5, 2015
Lines·Words
16·88
Tags
#sadness#truck#trucker#atypnoc#aty#baird#truckers#viudadavida#dominods#heavygood
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