Ninety-Seven Days
Ninety-seven walk through glue days.
In a row.
Soul rubbed raw.
For better or worse, the inside of everything is showing now.
My eyes are dust. The harshest images
defy tears.
I cry only from that which is tender.
Too much of this. Not
Enough of that.
Half my heart is severed.
And half soars towards redemption.
Finally.
2 comments:
Raw. Succinct. I feel you.
Rivka, I love and relate to this poem. Ty!
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