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Gerry Sykes
Poems
7d
The Thorn
Underneath the thorn
stinking, **** suppurates.
It throbs–
pulling the splinter–
pressing out the ****–
squeezing until the green sepsis runs ******.
The thorn's scar
is permanent
biding time,
waiting for bacteria.
My reflections my a lost son. I can't compete with the great poem by Ben Johnson, but these are my feelings anyway.
#death
#loss
#sad
#pain
Written by
Gerry Sykes
66/M
(66/M)
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