07 July, 2015

Wednesday is Trash Day

Who is to be given these things I wish to say
Why must they be said

My patience is not selfless
I feel grief

It is mine alone
Given to freely, you can ask

I can see each filter, not touching
I can see through them

Who wants this giving
Why must some want to give

It’s easy to stop
But for that selfish patience

Its warmth touches the filters
And they begin to touch, too

Storms are shared
And currents tested

Every memory is already sedate
There is only the Earth’s curve

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