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Blake
Poems
Oct 2019
Clowns of irony.
I run,
and arrive
at someplace worse.
I mend,
and end up,
more disfigured.
My circus of trying,
goes on,
and on and on...
A clown,
trailing me in glee for the fall,
cheering my weak knees on as I crawl,
I'm tempted
so tempted to drop,
But
Patience is all I've got left.
Written by
Blake
122/Other
(122/Other)
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