feeble hands ache -
weary from clutching
these burdens.
white knuckles,
pale soul.
shudder and crumple as,
blow by blow,
the hedge around me is pummeled
and hacked.
How Long?
examining this piece of glass.
i barely recognise the
faded resemblance:
uprooted and floundering,
ashamed at the image
in my glazed eyes.
no peace, no quiet -
stripped.
How Long?
you moulded me so delicately,
tenderly pressing the clay;
you knit me together with precision
and care:
so why unpick your handiwork?
give light to my shadowed eyes.
fragile: your flame scours
for flecks of silver.
but i've no bronze flesh
or stony strength to endure.
just me.
just worn out me.
How Long?
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