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A Benedict
Poems
Feb 2020
Stranded
With jammed compass
below cloud-filled firmament
sailing forward only arriving in the past.
Nearly impossible
to straighten this ship
without navigation.
Winds blow hard,
blow cold,
blow wicked.
Struggling to steer
this vessel of regret
through such waters of uncertainty.
Written by
A Benedict
48/M
(48/M)
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