soul’s solitary confinement…

soul's solitary confinement

rusted prayers
like
night smoke rings
leave the lips
as
an offering
to
the void 
of
hope
prayers
in
a voice
as dry
as
the barren fields
where
dreams
were planted
were that
the bed’s pillow
were
the land
it would yield
a bountiful crop
and then
there would be
no
lonely nights

 

 

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