It's an echo of thought

of what they want to hear

what they need to read

and while I wait

basking in a worried sun

or hiding from a frightened rain

they survey the damage done

on the minefield.

The limbs bloodied

and well cracked.

How I managed to drag

myself from the swallowing waves

and rise like a triumphant dove

hoping upon hope

that my dove, my self

lives longer in that hope,

in that future,

and I can believe

there is a tomorrow for me.

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