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Tell Tide -
by Craig Turnwall
Everywhere,
there are these figments of my own mind;
and wonder if; sacrifice dictates I see some form of divine
when there is nowhere to say I cannot
would you teach me an angel cry? I'd drive four states for penance.
Mild eyes. I go to work all of the days, that work remains in my life,
not mine but theirs; and I sip upon all the wasted hours not trickled down
my heart,
it seems so much a blatant sacrifice, all those days, the hours, miles,
bled toward a distant future I no longer entail.
I cap all the wave I see, the me-ander and I see the whites of the swell,
and I dream and I believe,
there is more than written to tell, more sung than is to believe,
more dire times than these, I fight nights in sleepless display, I am
no one.
where it is, Iíd like a passion to ebb, you are I, the gravity cannot
subside,
leave me there,
in all the darkness, this day, our night, spread your winds and fly, not
toward my stars,
toward your own eyes, let them linger and pray, I love you more than a
choice,
sit back and destroy,
all conventions I didnít enjoy.
no one.
would dream we not exercise, all drastic moments that are our lives,
we fight within narrowing tides,
donít escape, simple crimes,
passion is a coursing tell tide
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Craig Turnwall
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