The Poet

Softly falling somber sounds,

limber words that run aground

in rings of grey, transparent swirls

from the depths of consciousness.

Faulty voices stumbling off,

as the poet, in sneakers, is creeping soft

on tender wounds,

like patches on a satin dress.

Words emerge from shallow breath,

called from the depths of secret cells,

teetering on the edges of somber sounds

as the poet’s truth emerges.

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