The Awakening

October 19, 2011
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At my door the voices knock,
to warn off deathly choices
that my Don Juan does entice.
A simple request they leave,
hooked upon my inner walls,
to charm said naïveté, away.
Nothing may rest or settle,
as dust still blocks my view
from decoding your games;
but as the pieces slip together
I’ll then push you a little further.





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