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Old Floridian parchment
Written histories upon ink stains How to think within today’s tragedies Wondering how any sanity can remain
We try to build ourselves back up
When the world tears itself down The ruckus in the middle of silence The tears when you can’t quite frown
Truth isn’t worth what it used to be
Righteousness has overtaken the price We struggle to exist without persecution They’re coming for you, even if we play nice
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Who are you when you aren’t the woman of my dreams?
Slight hesitation in the shimmer of your cocktail dress Writing poetry when we should be making love In a world of tragedy, how’d I become this blessed? Like this: Like Loading...
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I’m not proud of my strength
& the tension at its core Heartbreak of awkward youth & the pain it always bore
But time passes & we tend to forget
Replaced by tragedy on the evening news No longer transcribing loss Nor remembering that fatal bruise Like this: Like Loading...
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There’s war out here in these streets
The physical city pulses & seethes
Tamped down by hate of denizens
Facts challenging all that we believe
All of society calling for our attention
While our infrastructure remains unstable
Tragedy & crisis revealed every morning
But I still need to put food on the table Like this: Like Loading...
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Evading their ongoing tragedies
Forty summers spent down in the dirt Withstanding the weight of apocalypse Emerging; though slightly less overt
Blast furnace of the afternoon sun Dali walking barefoot on Tampa’s shores Pale riders within unabsorbed light Embracing purity through perception’s doors The paint of our secret love notes But can only be read through the keyhole Shying away from all public renditions Her passionate words left imprinted on my soul Like this: Like Loading...