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SBohl
Poems
Oct 2011
White Fabric Eyes
Brick walls
tower above
hindering sight.
Not even tip-toes
facilitate perspective.
Her footprints lie outside
the walls like fallen leaves
Their forms unknown to her
their descriptions insufficient.
Saturated walls of distress hold
attempted depictions of footprints
engraved with hope for resemblance.
Discerning individual prints is unfeasible
She confronts this impossibility every day
Some were initiated with her imagination
Others embody a perfect resemblance
Many drawn only from descriptions
Overlapping and sharing marks.
Dust amasses and ivy crawls
Wrinkles point to her nose
Sanity escaped long ago
Her search will never
cease. A question
burrowed deep
within. What
is Truth?
Written by
SBohl
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