Bring Me Home

January 9, 2010
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I held his hand
and felt the days,
the hours,
the sunsets
call out to me;
my calluses brushed
against the words
carved into his palm,
and read to me
the wolves
in his eyes,
the haunts
he’ll come to
call home,
the serenity
he’ll adopt
as his
glory fades away.
I told him,
“I’ve seen
you die.”
And when he
answered,
I realized he was
so beautiful
it pained me to
watch.
He smiled,
a crooked,
broken smirk
that still
thought it had
some charm left,
and told me he knew.
Gripped my hand
a bit harder,
took a step
towards the water,
and repeated
what we both
knew would change
come morning.
He knew.





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