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An unsure arm gently bends—
crooked L shape curved at wrist,
flicker do the digits, syncopating

A cleansing purity crashes—
from sea foam, old impossibilities collapse,
initiating newly formed rationale,
that’s calming to the disrupted soul

Sidles of emotion,
swirl to clock—
focusing’s configured,
rearranged, for tides
stir the remnants,
oft forgotten

Dividing the rise and fall
momentously swallowing
all of you, entirely,
from gyration of fists to genuflecting wrists, broken
but sharing a flat, with the symbolic 7,
somehow making ills insignificant and meaningless, at least
for the then and now


About hobgoblin2011

I'm a poet and aspiring screenwriter/songwriter with a passion for film, art, photography, philosophy and heavy metal. I love reading, mainly non-fiction, comic books, graphic novels, myth and reference. Family always comes first for me. I'm a proud father to two wonderful pups and two curious cats. I'm also a glutton for punishment aka the life of being a diehard Buffalo Bills and Sabres fan.

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