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18 February 2011

the heart yearns for a home
that is not its own
and the years between
have been hard and mean
and the meanness and the rage
have built the bars of the cage,
have starved the wolf within
provoking his ancient sin
and then…
the heart beats a solemn tune
like the hoof-beats of approaching doom
or the drums of heathen fires
atop the hilltop’s ancient spires
where now only grass
and memories remain.
and there is the eternal stain
smeared across the clear glass.

One Comment leave one →
  1. 18 February 2011 12:29

    Why does this make me think of the Book of Ecclesiastes?

    Simply, profoundly beautiful.

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