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Untitled poem this morning

Untitled


I put all my fingers into the morning

and pulled out the birth of the nation

waiting for a cry that would make us live

all these fingers can do is type

Imagine the fist it takes to defend offenses

you can't see but the shadow cast

and what it gives off against raging sun

You may think hushing away a newborn idea

and sleeping the weight of the world from your eyes

would make the words that much more sweet

who's been a-pulling my head and yours

insisting we check against wrong or illness

all we do is finally open our eyes

see the unknown surrounding of a working world

kicking our way through our own smallness

and going into arms not made for law


s.m.g.



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