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Puddles from when the sky had cried the night before
soak my footsteps and sanity,
and soon I am lost,
walking blindly as the sky hangs above me,
promising nothing but rain clouds.
And while I am walking,
stumbling past tree roots and shrubs,
of the mud and the blades of burned grass
I search for seeds to repair old petals and torn dignity,
but these old and lonely roads
only lead me to a still and mournful sea.
Alone on this grey and deadened beach,
I pick up seashells and listen for secrets
but seagulls circle and scream above me,
criticizing my sullen waves,
that crash into my cliffs of aches.

(Here is a secret of the sky and I:
when the sun falls behind the trite horizon,
and others are returning to lovers' arms and lover's lips,
I am wishing tears could decorate the sky
and like stars,
lead me back home.)

by Alyssa Taylor

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