men, poetry, women

Terse Counsel

there are some

I trust with my secrets

Nothing corrosive

For I’ve been to the ground with

Those

But still

The council of quiet men

Advice which cuts away

Weak and rotting thought

So I return

Hard and strong

Terse counsel

Growling in my bones

Sit with women

Knowing I spare her

My weaknesses

But not 

My attention

Masculine energy renewed

In their company

Or in solitude

Both the same

Both the same

Both the same

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