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The Edge of Silver

At the edge of silver is a soft cry from my sleep.
The tears and groans awaken me.
The sadness of my being holds rainbows of gray shadowing my bed-
they expand and consume, crushing my chest.

The swirl of my loneliness sounds like silence.
Silence of a room with an empty wooden chair.
Silence like rain; falling slow and steady.
The rain hides, shivering underneath cold, thing blankets.

The peace is serene.
If you look under it, you’ll hear a quiet voice of a young girl.



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