poetry

Many Returns

Sharpest Perception a Road Less Traveled

I have visions of past lives, transitions through many places,

I’ve never gone.

I admit to being haunted

by sand drifts, foreign faces,

and familiarity’s tune, of never heard song.

In one of my lives, I was believed to be, Henry the VIII’s wife,

but I’ve learned, how to keep my head since,along with anenriched life.

There are times, an antagonizing nuisance plagues my soul to shreds.

Even piqued my rudeness,

arming my artic tongue,

til they wished, they were dead.

In a very distinct futuristic, occurence of wars aftermath.
I’m believed to be the Angel of Death.

For visions show

mangled bodies, distorted faces,

and impending demise,

to the programmed one’s, left.

Whether hours after, or a year later, its always the same, like watching an action packed movie unfold,
on a 3D panoramic screen.

I’m always so close, and yet so far away.

I…

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