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Jan 2014
Upon an island sits my soul.
Floating among the quivering
branches hidden with in the lull
I crouch, still and shivering.

Upon the waves turns my soul.
With cold waters dragging me deep
to a world through a rabbits hole
I flail, thrashing about and weep.

Upon those cufflinks wears my soul.
The jacket turned outward to face
the cold harsh winds taking their toll
I arch, pained and begin to brace.

Within the damp ground rest my soul.
With shelter against the raging
wind theres chance to warm by the coal
I lay, stretched no longer caging.
William
Written by
William  Summit NJ
(Summit NJ)   
671
   Timothy
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