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hope

by Anastasia Lyn

The one thing that it whispered
as it faded away
was a moonless,
feathery fabrication.
My slippery hands were too slick
with discarded tears
to get ahold of it
again.
The distance was its direction.

04/21/2012

Posted on 04/22/2012
Copyright © 2026 Anastasia Lyn

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 04/22/12 at 10:00 PM

Lovely.

Posted by Frankie Sanchez on 04/23/12 at 08:09 PM

amen.

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