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My father’s words re-echo
From the grave where he lay
I look for a snail in the day
Mates made good theirs at night

Separation is the knife that cuts
Loneliness trails me in the crowd
With you in thought all day long
Your cold presence chills my bone

Numbness mocked by distance
Attempted to erase my existence
From love to hate, battle declared
I can’t force you into your dislikes

You hate snail, but like its sauce
With half of me still there with you
You can’t erase the beautiful broods
With the great love you have for them

Here am I stripped naked by weather
In a wilderness of implicit reality
And a mesh of high muck domes
Looking for entrance way to get out

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
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Is the internal logic consistent?
Editing stage: 


This has potential, but still needs some work. I was going to say there was a message that got lost when you go from snails to the person, but a light just went on as i read it for the fourth time. Still this needs some work but don't stray to far from your original style. Regards Roscoe...

Roscoe Llane,

Religion will rip your faith off, and return
for the mask of disbelief that's left.

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