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Rated: E · Poetry · Fantasy · #1824683
A wine induced piece.
November fell
And night rose up from behind the Blue Ridge swallowing the day an hour early
The cool air, once again sharp and knowing
Hands like soft linen will soon to callus

This time is no friend of mine
Gone are the days of spring

How many nights must now pass before daylight is sweet and plentiful?

The naked body beneath these sheets - I writhe, I am anxious
I have never been outside of this skin
My spirit trapped in the vast maze
Somewhere between aging and avoidance I find my name is Confusion, still

The lessons of winter, of loss, weigh on my thoughts as again I step into the cloudless dark
Half moon, the things of shadow, we are one again

Breathless and hungry for tomorrow
I trade rest for illusion
The unbound child within still does not know we are grown

I pale in comparison to those before me
Those seekers who tasted the dirt and felt the bruises, each
My scars are fantasy, empty
This world seen through eyes damned by repetition and souls who never forged a true dream

I run by the railways
I listen for the cry of the forest
I wait for the sound of a steed and a voice
Where is the hand that will set free this lovers heart?

I beg of the gods give me love and love alone
Poverty and misfortune I fear not
They are moths and flies

Love though, it is lavender and merlot
Let it find my lips and my skin
Take me from November’s cloak and hold no grudge to my past

I lay my head upon the pillow cool
And drift my thoughts do
I am the one left behind by fairytales
I am no ones to find
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