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Son Of Eeyore

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Maidstone, England, UK

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As yet Untitled.

by

Son Of Eeyore

As yet untitled.
Left with no ‘place to be’
But the deep lonesome hours
Supplied by a supple imagination.
A mind torn between
Deliverance and falling
Into the abyss of grey walls
And cracked windows.
I have landed.

The music was a looking glass
From which I watched him cry.
Yet his power is strong
When he saw me watching
He passed on his thorns.
Made my fingers bleed
Like candles on a birthday cake
Burning painful to touch.
But only understood so.

Truly a world that is passing us by.
Are we really the parasites?
Yes I too am infected.
You did that much for me.
I tried to spike the people’s thoughts
But they have peace in their trauma.
In a case of mistaken identity
We are ended by a world
That passes to the few
But takes the joy away.