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Walking through the cut
Of the near December air,
With a wish in my wake
And an incomplete stare.
I'm staring at something
With out my glasses on
Which nicely explains
Why the distance looks long
Between me and the reasons
That serve as my guide.
Sometimes I wonder
If the shadows are on my side.
But it's a hollow gesture,
This walk, and purposeless.
I'm going nowhere,
I'm sad to confess.
All the stars in the world
Won't guild me to my savior--
Much less blind a soul
To my behavior.
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| -owen muir |
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