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Lost Love

She kept a flower

Once

Maybe it was

The first flower

And she wrapped it

Up with her

Soul

And with tissue paper

And hid it 

Under her bed

For she knew

They would come

Looking for it

And they would never

Think

She would hide

Such a thing

There 

Much later

When tides had flowed

And the times 

had changed

A different woman

In the same body

Found a thing

Under her bed

And when she unwrapped

The thin 

Skin like paper

There was only

Mould and fur

And the outline

Of

A blood red

Heart

 

◄ The Battle

Blinded ►

Comments

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Thu 8th May 2014 10:13

You shoot poetry like arrows, targeting your imagination straight to the reader's heart. To have unusual ideas, and then the imagery to project and sustain them, is skill indeed.

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