My Words Come Down
My words come down not by my choosing,
My stands are not by choice.
Theh're determined more by happenstance.
I loved a little girl, was once when I a child.
Every once in a while I dream of her
and wonder what became of her wile.
My muse stands as sentinel
Guards all my thoughts to word.
Darkeyed woman that she is
Silently twisting her curls.
There is a hollowness remaining in my chest
Where life was excavated, to be reclaimed
upon my death.
Still I wonder of the little girl,
The stars, and love and death.
My muse stares back at me saying,
'And God forsake the rest.'
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