TITLE: Sore Winding Road - 5/24/2012
By David Miller
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Do the birds still chirp and the trees still chatter?
Their sounds once knocked upon my door,
But now I hear nothing like before.
Thuds and thumps and shrills and stumps,
Cover my walls in heavy clumps.
Yet feelings and sounds once held so dear,
Fall silently and quietly on one deaf ear.
Life is ever growing but does it still matter?
Blessings, waitings and pleasures anew,
They withered and faded as I grew.
Stresses and gnashes, sadness and pain,
I wonder why they still remain.
Lovings and huggings now seeming so rare,
What could replace them except despair?
Is death really dusty and filled with such clatter?
Horrors, nightmares, fears under my bed,
It always left me brimming with dread.
Dances and trances, all totaled romances,
I’d miss every one of those untaken chances.
With tremors of terrors not actively fed,
Perhaps it is true I’m better of dead.
Could it be so that light gets no brighter?
Squinting and shielding eyes nevermore,
A glow seeps through the cracks in my door.
No aching, no breaking, no hurting again,
A sweet distant sound cuts through my thick skin.
I would never imagine such troubling sore,
Would lead me to chatters and chirping once more.
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