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I Want To Hold It Close

That scenic chorus paints pride blended tears

as suspended droplets thrum euphoria

those watchers notice, its nuance foreign.

They’ve never heeded- never recognised

the harmony befriending delicate words

that welcomed wrung emotions on inches.

rare colloquial feelings pouring traces

left to the table.

The playing record that tugs at my arm

to appear closer, pulling at strings

my heart jumps parallel.

I plummet for exquisite meaning

falling for the white flag-

surrendering my heavyweight in silence.

In that five-minute realm I could run,

not letting end tissue marks that colour me,

I can still sense the echo’s, never left,

with every heartbeat it lives.

I want to hold it close.

I want to hold it close…


poetrysongthoughtsfeelingsthe rarest birdsalison moyet

◄ Being Human Version 2

Too Young, Too Old ►


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