And your words take flight
Landing in my ear
They speak of disappointment
Over my risky path
You wish for me to stop
To take the road less brambled
Where my prize
Is the slow death of my soul
You refuse to help
Giving no response
As if you’re now a spectator
Instead of my support
Waiting for me to fall
Though you gain nothing
From my failure
Yet
I know what you will do
When I stand with victory
Etched upon my brow
You will yell support
Claiming it was always there
But I will remember
Your whispers in the wind




beautiful poem!!
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Thanks.
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Wow, powerful!! Love this one!! π On a side note, I just got a notification that you just started following me, I thought you already were, and, if you haven’t been up until now, why not?! LOL!! π
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I was, but I went for the ‘like’ on one of your poems and . . . missed. I have a mouse pad that I move my finger across and I sometimes move too quickly. I actually unfollow myself once a week because of it.
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Oh OK. Hahahaha so glad it was because of your “butterfingers.” I can definitely understand that slip, I’ve done it myself once or twice. π
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Glad to hear I’m not the only one. I promise not to do it again. π
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Yikes! “Where my prize // Is the slow death of my soul”
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Yeah. I don’t have many fond memories of my time in a cubicle. I can’t see how people can do it with horrible lighting, dull colors, and high walls. It’s dehumanizing.
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