She (celerest) wrote in nakedemilyd,
She
celerest
nakedemilyd

  • Mood:

'the gate'

'the gate'
glimmering hope lies tarnished in the morning glare
waiting, with baited breath
the eyes of the down-trodden sparkle at the sight
leaning low
sniffing, sensing, tasting and at last touching
now grasping upwards, upwards
white-picket fencing splinters in hands
when the ground becomes tar, unset
the skin becomes nothing
and the fates of hope are gone.
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