Rise and Shine [poem]

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The longer in the tooth I get
(the older I become)
the more I have to realise
we’re works-in-progress
on the run

The more I linger in this world
strung out on the vine
the more I seem to recognise
our purpose here to
rise and shine

We are neither saints nor sinners
nor angel-demon souls
we’re flawed and fractured lumps of clay
we’re bandit potters
on parole

The upshot of this thought-plot:
there is no axe to grind
we need to get it in our heads
we are stranded poems
seeking rhyme

© 2011, Alan Morrison

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