What has left will notreturnwhich is to sayyou will remain:beautifullydevastated. M Mia VT 18 years old
Poetry By Mia the stench of sorrow From dirt I rose intothe heat of theburning flames at your bedside.Your home—not lostbut on the runno longer so scorned by our bright sun—flies lower than a murder of crows
Poetry By Mia The obedience of leaving I leftthen was leaving when I was told not tobut you let so much of a river passby--escaping your treacherousburning eyesso I bled down the bankto where the golden dew shonelike fiery teardrops
Poetry By Mia The fifth trip to nowhere The windIs at my backAnd the sails at my mercyBut I was gifted sight:Two eyesAgain Last night.Blue They saidLike the oceanLike the seaStill, I can goNowhere—
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