Laurel Poem by Corinne LaMoreHarber

Laurel



the truth,
it splinters in your hands
and the Light
is bitter on your tongue
now that he
no longer
makes music
from you,
those breathtaking
Agonizing
songs.
too late,
you ache Under
your too rough skin.
you, wild one, Ran
from his Eternity
dropping below, and
stretching for the sun,
Left to grow.

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