Dispossessed [poem]

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Decades of weaving days drove by unnoticed
hobbling slidely through
the unkempt meadow of my brevity.
A fierce uncertain frailness flies in heavenly lines
towards the cracked unmended plate of joy
which earlier in my halcyon days had slipped
out of my tender clumsy hands

I now and maybe neverendly howl with many
shuddering fountains in
the whitewashed hillsides of my sanity.
Then soon I let me go and fall into the ground
amidst the sounds of season-tainted trees
and reaching for some leaves as blurredly I went down
I found the home I never owned

© 2012, Alan Morrison

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