poetry critical

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the eighteenth year.
brokenarrows

you have become the culmination of all my hope,
 1
the disaster of my days
 2
a restless spectator watching me turn in circles,
 3
dancing for no one but myself.
 4
years go by and instead of a tree and some free time
 5
we have returned to empty hands and the shadows of dreams we have evicted from our hearts,
 6
given away for ransom on the edges of an age.
 7
 
 
i still miss you then as i wish you were here now.
 8

8 Feb 11


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