The Finer Things

posted in: Poems 2014 | 0

Ice for blood

Free the whispered

Judgement of words

 

I am myself

 

Rain needle sharp

Upon my face

Back to wall.

 

I stand tall.

 

Wind through hair

Decision and equivocation

Denied their say.

 

As I play.

 

Sun warmed bones

Gentle smiling eyes

Timid loving silence.

 

I am content.

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