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The Song Of The Wandering
The Song Of The Wandering
In darkness deeper than the mine
where, once, I scraped my fingers to the bone
a silver seam of moonlight
breaks across the boiling blackness
and I let those self same fingers
idly trail in the cold Mediterranean.
I dream of the golden sunlight
left behind in the dust, distress and bullets.
That was then and this is now.
The churning sea, the angry orders
s...
Wednesday 13th May 2015 6:47 pm
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