(a poem)

Your poor soul’s fallen so many times
It’s fading at the elbows
But it’s gotten up so many times
It’s fading at the knees too
And none the worse for wear

When these doubts are at your throat
Remember I’ve got your back

And when that guy in the dark heckles you
Shine a torch in his face and tell him the way to your heart
Is across still seas and through silent libraries and over my dead body

When we fall we’ll fall into the hammock we strung together
And the changing winds that push the wildfires over forests and toss ships like moodswings
Will rock us to sleep
Safe with three anchors, two ends of the hammock and each other

 

-Dimitrios

 

 

 

fin.

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