Monday, May 21, 2012


Residual ache,
and the familiar presence of subsequent numbness.

I am a fortress...
with paper walls and toy cannons.

A battlement forged in the sweat of my own effort.

Man-made and proportionately immortal.

Thick skin and practiced expressions.

No one will know I hurt if I can help it.
No one.

But therein lies the problem with paper...
tearing beneath pressure,
moving with the wind.

So blow me down.

Watch imperial towers fall in Your wake.
Leave me in ruin,

in numbness.

In the presence of residual ache.

For I am a fortress,
cannons firing blanks.

A battlement forged of my good effort,
that can no longer fight for itself.

Save me.

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