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May 2012
The black dove is perched,
near its keepers gritty window
clipped at the wing, and blown to the past
Destined for insanity, alone
in his cage
never to breath
to fly
to last

Where there is hope, it ceased to believe
of such an idea, this bird could conceive
His keeper, in pieces, swept up by high tide
his mission unknown, black dove suicide.
Paul Rousseau
Written by
Paul Rousseau
634
 
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