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Scuffing the heal of my soul

The mind's eye glasses,
though fragile, possess
power-focused on her beauty,
mighty far pass the outter flesh

I would raise up praise
to drink from one every hour
as thoughts of sweetness
fed from muscle 'neath breasts

when weak of brittled bone my hope
was to support her unsteady stance
protected baby's heart
furiously I'd do at every chance

such a calamity...
as the cliche of disillusion laughs
in bitter agony
repetitiously questioning...

what has happened to me?
Written by Poetikmind (_---_)
Published
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