Aged Mirrors (75) Poem by Raquel Angel Nagler

Hours made of aged years.
We exile the cliffs from our eyes.
We long
For the tiny certainties of a valley.


Our years grew old.
Freedom is no longer a religion,
A god.
It is a day lonely, pedestrian,
With tears in its feet.


It's late in our life.
We realize there is no freedom.
There are too many tyrants inside us:
The blood, the solitude, the tears.


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From Aged Mirrors - trilogyofthemirrors.com