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Carmella

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Your father and I slinked across fantasylands by night,
taking ourselves to a tiny cottage above a green valley near tumbling cliffs,
and we swore that when one of us reached our point of demise,
we'd take their bones and use them as stone,
building a bridge across the valley,
and you, my daughter, would add the other's bones to the bridge one day,
sewing our skin together to make a canopy that would absorb perfect sunlight
and as others journeyed over us,
we would dangle together,
clinging to one another for survival even
in death, and this? we called it love.

One day, my darling,
you'll sneak beyond our world and into fantasylands to run with him,
but I will hold you back, by the arm,
and say no: no, no, no,
I will not let you go,
as I did,
into prisons of your own creation.




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somerandomperson said...
Apr. 17, 2012 at 4:19 pm:
im confused because creation isnt a prison but i do like your poem
 
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