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Marley ONeill
Poems
Apr 2010
The Prosaic
I am running out of words
Nothing far from repetition
Trekking where the map goes blank
A leadless pencil, mute musician
Dry as pages white and barren
Empty echo, breathless lung
Walking paths that lead to sirens
Sing the song that can't be sung
Written by
Marley ONeill
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