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"skulker" poems
Gratitude always falls short of intention, leaving only a fiction of our meaning, when silence descends blinking neon emotions and a void, rather than a hoped for event horizon of joy. But, it's how you transcend that shimmers humanity, makes doubt ephemera and avoids conclusion. No longer a skulker in spiky weeds, you emerge radiant in a woman's wisdom. Likely, it comes from a mother's nurture, but the solitude of silence, these your father's whispers. So, you've escaped both superficial and awkward, arisen the womb unscathed --- Proceed to middle age! Though perception often baffles understanding, human genomes revel in such challenge.
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Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 9:17 PM UTC
To Be Human