there is a burn
and I turn my head
scouring for the source
of the scourge.
there is a worm
in the sand of my soul
buried but squirming still
my feet are fleet
yet beat
many a mean dark street.
there hides a smoldering blaze
behind that lowered gaze
flames will not be doused
\stone sober or slightly soused\
though I pour forth milk
of kindness
froth overflowing
the scorch extinguishes
not
I run for waters cool
submerge my charr-ed soles
whisper to the ill-used worm
revert, don’t turn
return
I can feel the worm still wriggling.Loved this one.
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Thank you!
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Your poems always stir something inside me. I love to read them again and again.
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Oh that is so kind. I really appreciate it
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Nice composition
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I’m always in awe of your words.
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You are too kind!
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