the space we hold

in this space,

i find the want.

the promised choices,

blood of the hunt.

i want more.

i have so much.

a soul-ache sore

for this, for touch.

pain drives us onward–fills the cracks.

we all run wild towards the sun,

sweat dripping heavy off our backs,

the tears and rain all turn to one–

this earth can hold our stuff and bones,

but not the burdens we bear alone–

all the sins and wants and loss and wounds.

even the summer sunset cannot atone

for the sorrow that holds us, dark cocoon.

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