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+++ Ethereal Unrest +++

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He travels the sundown wake, 
Moving like a stab wound in the night,
Bleeding this blood, breathing this sky,
Traipsing up the starlight mud,
He holds ethereal unrest in the scar in his palm,
A gesture of forever, turned never into shame,
Opening blisters on our eyes, 
A darkened host is holding ground,
He feels the path, bloated in gristle,
Reaching empyrean, safe and sound.

Not so nice to meet me, 
Not so nice at all.
I am forgotten by these ulcers,
I am all the forests without trees,
She moves like a heart shard,
Something more beautiful than me.

She's woken the feeling inside me,
We've found a world I won't forget,
Dreamt beyond all our sorrows,
This cracking heart that never bled.

Something, so profoundly lost,
So systematically depressed,
Blotted out of the sunlight,
By the beauty you possess.

The End
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Author guidance for This poem

PaulMacklin The blood stain I leave, from the heart once on my sleeve.

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