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Poetry

The Passage: An Enigmatic Odyssey of Sorrow and Yearning

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painted industrial tunnel in contrast

The Passage

Tungsten tear drops,
from your puffy eyes,
did that just happen?
(In private, I cry.)

I cannot believe it,
why?
Yesterday we were,
now –
Robbed of sleep,
we don’t feel
the hunger pangs.
Who am I,
our purpose without you?

It’s like a prank,
I give up.
I cannot change,
change what?

Oh gosh!
A gush of doting memories,
clawing us afloat.

LenaJurikowa.de

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