What am I but far removed?
What am I but losing heart
And loosely mended injuries
And garden after garden blooms
Of withered words to grow;
Some unconvincing sense the
Bruises fade like weather changes,
But it rains in hues of stale wounds
Too deeply blue and bleeding still,
And still the furrows fill with every
Drop until the tears are gone.
So what am I but lost
Without the pain to
Paint it overcast,
And what to be
But blame to come
Across beneath a storm.

#Paris #France

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