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I grieve for the me that has never seen the light

The woman of hopes pardoned, heart held tight

Her secrets are sewn with moonlight and sea salt

A fabric of tenuous need that dissolves into fault

Her scars are a topography of tears and bitter grit

Her eyes are a tonic of wisdom, fear and rye wit 

She drinks bourbon with the envy of an angel 

Prays with the solemn knowledge of the unfaithful

Her soul seeks solitude in the arms of sly poets

Her spirit rides upon a stallion of shadowed heroics

I grieve for the me that is silenced with every slight



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