The Good Fight

By , Orient, OH
How long do I have to walk barefoot
In this December cold?
With these September winds still lashing at my bareback,
My soul fading from wear and tare.
A dirty dish towel,
I'm throwing it in.
Slowly, bitterly sweet falling into the seductive songs of the black.
Maybe just close my eyes for one moment.
On this pseudo bed of roses.
Swirls of vibrant dark, clashing with faint whispers of hope.
This is every good fight.
Murky hands push, pull.
Faces of burnt memories scar my numb brain.
Just like healing wrists from own self wars.
I'm strong.
I can take more...





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