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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