men, poetry

Walking Through Shadows

Eaten in pieces

Mouthfuls of time

Anxious feast

A melancholic assassin

Waiting for the target

To leave

Just once

Wanting

To be worth

Someone’s attention

Without feeling

disposable

You can be elevated

Elected

Mocked and still have

No idea if anything

Good will come of it

But the strength is there

And you’ve borne anguished

Wounds before and amongst

The ones you gave

There were lessons

Which stitched together

And although the scars pull

With each step,

Hold her hand.

Walking

Wherever you are going

Without knowing how far

They’ll walk with you.

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