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Faith of the Fallen
June 28, 2019
And so I clasp my
Rose stained fingers
And pray to gods I don’t believe in
An aching under the flesh
An unfamiliar numbness
The taste on my tongue is of
Power
Grass-scented
The dying thoughts of mayflies
I hope for the faith of the fallen
Instead of this nagging emptiness
My own hands can’t control my dreams
But at least
In dreams
I am whole
© Stacey L., New City, NY
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Even when your hands are shaking, remember summer’s warmth