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How far, do your, wing-ed tears, fall,
before, they fly, into, comfort’s arms?
Do you, wish them, to float, further,
                           afield,
                            or, is,
                            this..
    …horizon…..enough…..for…..you?   
The future, keeps, it’s eyes closed, and, I

can never, rouse them, open. So, I guess,
     I’ll fester, in, your firmament, until,
                 you, find me, here.

© poormansdreams

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