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Rated: · Poetry · Writing · #1548195
Wrote this one on a bad day.
Untitled



Nestled among the churches

and the universities,

my self preservation waned

in a place where Sunday mornings

fade to Monday evenings.



There are no psalms to sing here,

our heads remain lowered before you

in shame.

In our death we lay in peace-

unaffected and undesturbed

with no angels to watch us now

and no devils to torment us

and for the first time I understand

what it means to crave the quiet.
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