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Oct 2009
Writing
In the hour of the after life
As the candle burns
Fingers are numb
Ink is dry
A feathered pen ruined
On ashless paper
Exposing uncombined thoughts
Of revision
How can this be?
The words I look upon
Carefully
A sentence so unfinished
Quenching  for more expressions
In which I cannot find
A performance in the house of tongues
From an encore of a lapping lexis
As the dead poet rise
To be saved
Written by
Diverseman2020  Austin, TX
(Austin, TX)   
784
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