Arts and Letters
6/18/2020 10:43 PM
Patterns laid bare to my eyes
Where people fall silent
All the doors swing open
Though actions prove violent
Misshapen figures shoved into the dark
 
Celebrated on the fourth
Fringes of thought, frayed ends band together
But I wasn't passed the torch
Separated from the flock to my feather
My history, ripped up in my hands
The wind steals it before I can learn
 
Products of vanity, built to last
Until they're the first to burn
Holding it to the light, the die is cast
Breathe deeply and turn the page
A pen to paper will rebuild my past
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