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Longing For Redemption...

The edge of his singing blade is dulled
His armor has grown stiff and rusted
There is no more to give
The windmills he has tilted against have won

His hidden brother is mortally wounded
Gone is the joy of righteous anger
Departed in the night of his torment
It could not stand the assault

He simply lives, there is nothing left
Nothing to fill the emptiness
The aching hole in his heart
He's held by the chains of yesterday

Hidden away, he plots his escape
Knowing it never will happen
Still wearing the smiling mask
That keeps his secret

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage: 

Comments

Being trapped within one's own past and skin can be a pretty bad thing. I really think this is a good poem to think about.....stan

Thinking is what I was after. Not sure of the result yet. ~ Gee.
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author comment

Hon this is heartbreaking. Gosh hon youve changed your poems have always been wonderful but they have a keener edge. I maybe see it more not being here all the time.

We all have masks in many forms.

Kudos bow

Love and higgliest bugs sis xxx

“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” — W.B. Yeats

Yes... A keener edge indeed. Feeling pretty low and not sure why. Love and higgest bugs. YAB

There is value to commenting and critique, tell us how you feel about our work.
This must be the place, 'cause there ain't no place like this place anywhere near this place.

author comment

Hon I suspect I know why. But you will be OK. Your strong man whos come through some swrious health issues in the past.

Love always and higgliest bugs YAS xxx

“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” — W.B. Yeats

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