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Sep 2015
When can I go to the place we dream?
I can’t see through stained glass windows
Or read words in a faraway language
But I see the tears carving their story
And the images reflected by the stream

It was the fear of living with their choices
The world sought its own refuge
But it was not bricks or stone fences
Instead it was a word that built the wall
And the glory of hearing their own voices

When can I go to the place that was promised?
From meal to meal I travel with a memory
I could say this is who I am but is that true?
All I know is that I could only feel pain inside
They said they were only being honest

I was so tired of being told how to be
It seems they cannot live with their own
I only wanted to talk about your blessings
They were so small I was ashamed of my own
I had forgotten that a breath is the life for me
Mark Lecuona
Written by
Mark Lecuona
442
   David Hall
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