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L T Winter
Poems
Aug 2016
Wirring Pandemonium
The wirs; whistle
Prestigace melancholy
To their voices,
Merely whispers now.
An aftermath of discord
This epoch of anarchy
I never share these
Demons with them
But your baffling now
Waiting--
Your mind is muddled
Melding the wrong words to connections
I never made.
The disarray, in time
Becomes albany.
Written by
L T Winter
M/United Kingdom
(M/United Kingdom)
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