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Zack Ripley Feb 2020
The air should be light.
Filled with joy, not fright,
On this cold winter night.
And for most, it is.
the difference between
them and me, you see,
Is that they are not prisoners
Of their minds. They are free.
I was sentenced to this life alone
Without a home to call my own,
After I served my country.
Oh, what a world I was shown.
Don't misunderstand. I had a good life.
I lived the American dream,
Complete with a house, a dog, a beautiful wife.
But once I signed up for another tour,
Her heart couldn't take it anymore.
She walked out the door.
When I came back, I was too embarrassed to ask for help.
So that's how I got here,
Feeling like I only have
myself to blame.
But even as I join my fellow outcasts,
Forgotten, and unloved,
I smile with pride
Knowing I was brave enough to play the game.
miles before we became
men full-blown,
we crunched nails for lunch,
lead for dinner,
heartburn for life....

after the dance
came shock therapy
and dreams interrupted,
incomplete
like pages ripped
from the manUScript of me
slicing apple pies
under the white picket fence
while babies chase bubbles over the lawn,
green like malvoes in cantho...

pages torn...
discarded...
unpublished...

and the author is dead!

~ P
(#19in71)
Inspiration for this fusion poster @ http://fineartamerica.com/featured/nineteen-in-seventyone-pablo.html

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