The nostalgia of looking in
stills every other wish
save the expansion of self essence
that powers the beating heart
to breathe life
in your shape of dust.The rest,
eyes like those of a pet
glued on its stall,
too squints ridden to see the road's end,
padlocked, wallow in the paddock
until it gets dark
for these short few days.
Form: Blank Verse
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