The Awaited Escape


Breathing of my heart's desire beats
the unwelcomed healing of my mental
armory. A gift that God has bestowed
not only to the dirt under the grass but
to me as well. I stutter through blank
speech, awaiting the moment the last
sand grains drop, so that I may
withhold my true language no longer. I
have found a cold pool of water through
the tar that is emptied from a ball-point
pen.

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