Categories
poetry

9-09-02

The truly original
Masters of lyrical
Borderline spiritual
Are pieces of art.

The people we meet
Who walk down the street
Who might lie, who might cheat
Are pieces of art

Myself? I am torn
My soul has been worn
My spirit forlorn
You’ve broken my heart

As silence stands still
The way that I feel
Is never too real
Without you here

My heart’s become tough
Like a stone, sharp and rough
If you look close enough
The truth becomes clear

So how can I be,
The pain that is me,
The art that you see?
Your vision, I fear

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