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a restless jitter;
skin-deep promises, unkept:
no nails left to bite.
dead poet Dec 12
a petal wafts through the fields;
as though a cradle for the morning dew
forged by winter’s labour.

the flower remains anonymous.
dead poet Dec 7
a glass of bourbon
unspent napkins on the side
the cheque is written
dead poet Nov 24
i'm still running, running fast;
i'm running fast... i'm running fast -
this was never meant to last!
Ron Sparks Aug 27
These streets
are not just roads;
they hold our stories, and
embedded within them are our
poems
Ron Sparks Aug 17
Good men
won't be found here.
Chivalry is long dead.
Here, we sit in shadows and hide
our scars.
Ron Sparks Aug 2023
Handcuffed
for buying a
flower from a roadside
vendor.  America summed up
right there.
Ron Sparks Aug 2023
Walking
by me as I
wrestle with my regret,
she laughs - and for a short moment I
too smile
Ron Sparks Aug 2023
The way
you talk about
it, you seem to think that
time really does stand still in my
embrace
Ron Sparks Aug 2023
The taste
of my cigar
and the whiskey in my
gullet can't fill the pit inside
my chest
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