May 5, 2011
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There is nothing inside of me moving about
It stirs my blood and scratches my bones.
The nothing is twisting and turning with no apathy
From my skin
Who restrains it holding it in.
The man underground listens only
To the footfalls my thoughts make in the barren land.
What is was once no longer
Is haunting me again.
The unknowable other,
The serenity of another.
What is lost before time is hard to find,
When all that listens, is the silent man
Buried deep within the ground.

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