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To be Wanted

It was a long time ago…

Somewhere scattered

In artifacts of memories and the shrapnel of delicate hearts

Exploding into glass panes of deep red and the black veins that create the image

Now separated and indistinguishable, it’s just red thorns with no bloom

Empty space with no room

Red passion to dark gloom

Strings cut from the loom 

So it is safe to assume

A heart that would thump with a boom

Became a melody with no tune

And no bars

No place, with no light, a night sky without stars

A distance without — how far?

That’s how far we grew apart 

© The Sad Owl

Categories: poetry

Tagged as:

The Sad Owl

I'm just here. Until I'm not.

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