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eleanor prince Jan 2019
when scenes
pixelate
halt in a cell's
frozen scream
slow-motion rage
cloaks grief

do earth's plates
shift at all
respond to pain
torn out of shape
in savage roar

no

we matter to ourselves
on some days
while he or she
reads the code
to check the tides

oscillate in
crawl space
hidden
in island habitat's
darkened cave

we try to breathe
solitary venture
as days run out
leaving dust
and bones

in silence

as a new
dawn
rises
when depression's dark dirge speaks... may we find a way to wait for a new dawn

— The End —