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Jun 2015
The poisoned soul, tainted--
victim of its owner's own hand.
Twisted;
tight and coiling as a filth soaked rag;
contentment, elation's enchantment,
wrung like water clouded the filth of grey--
cast from the fibres' binding
binding life to purpose. Worthless.

Popping pills
to cure an invisible ailment.
Smartphones, gems, unhumble hovels,
ineloquent words impotent
to wash the essence sickness--
treating symptom rather
circumstance. Jailing the spirit in
sedation's purchased trance.

The cure found not in
possessions procurement but
by moments in time too brief.
A loving embrace, the hand of a child,
smiles and laughter--
relief to soothe
the poisoned soul poisoned by
sadness.
Shaun Meehan
Written by
Shaun Meehan  St. Thomas, Ontario
(St. Thomas, Ontario)   
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