Hearth

Oft elusive for me was slumber.
I carried not splinters but lumber.

Shards from a cross I was never near.
Thorns from a crown of violence & fear.

Switches from shrubs embroidered my thighs.
Sticks of repression & its base lies.

Splints just there to keep me from running.
Struts, with help, to keep me from crumbling.

I creak in the cold & sing in heat.
What rest I’ve found, has been no mean feat.

Still, I pull wood from me by plier.
Just some kindling to feed my fire.

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lbstowe

I see the world through a Painter’s eyes and process it with a Poet's Heart....it's quite a harsh place for the soul. It scratches and wears your true self down, at times, but the Beauty is Addictive. I feel for everyone I encounter. Everyone I encounter is a teacher if I'll let them be. I Empathize with everyone I talk to & I Think about Everything-LEVi

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