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Refuge


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I am never still,
You see-
I never rest
Constantly in motion
I have always
Questioned my place
Was I to be a runner?
My knees bent,
Arms thrusting forward, biting wind
Not with knees like this-
They would never last!
Or in medicine?
Curing ailments, slicing belly’s-
Carving skin from bone. I can’t,
I can’t bare loss.
Or a reader? Sitting quietly in a chair, pensive-
Pulling words from pages,
Swallowing them whole
Not with ideas like this. I could
Never be anything but
The writer.
Hovered over a desk, pen moving, stanzas commas
Lines spilling into puddles
I have everything I need
I told myself,

A comfortable place to lie my head
Inside of poetry



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CowGirl101 said...
May 20, 2010 at 10:32 am
wonderful.. explains everything
 
Ineedthesuntorise.... said...
May 2, 2009 at 7:12 pm
wow! this is really good!!!! I can really relate to this that poetry is basically my life. This is really amazing! i love the whole layout.
 
punksnowboarder said...
Mar. 4, 2009 at 12:36 am
That Was Good! I Loved It
 
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