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Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #2208236
Brief poem on multiple levels
Off the grid
soon
I’m headed home
the city’s
too noisy it’s frantic
enough;
enough
take what you need
and give the rest back
for stars and campfires and
things that go bump,
unseen rustles
In a shadow tree night
an endless path
now swept clean,
I’m headed home
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