4 - Poor Man's Ending Poem by Luke Hawkins

4 - Poor Man's Ending



4 - 4th in my collection
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The sun sets for my journey.
Your shadows of opinion have entangled
my only roots,
you are the knife,
your judgment the hand.
It cuts so deep.
Slices through my stomach – hunger,
the pain from your emotion.

I cannot breathe.
The hare shivers with the hound’s breath,
so cold, so heartless, so close.
The hand of time which we both share has
caught me.
Not long now.
I am free. But falling.
I do not sleep in prisons or
point a needle,
I point to money but
you point at me!
Crippled fingers from understanding.

The day is dying.
I start to shiver, you hold my fire.
I begged you – pleaded with my sound
of aloneness.
You heard my world of nothing.
You gave nothing.
I am now nothing.
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A small poem written by me
© 2010

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