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by Richard Vince

It’s there, somewhere,
In the ancient stone walls,
In the shadows cast by mullioned
Windows, on well worn flagstones,
Behind forbidding oak doors:
The pattern from which
Your life was cut over and
Over again, returning to
The same design.

It’s there, somewhere:
Hiding in the one place
It knows you will never go,
Its mirthless laughter filling
The gaps in your life
That you cannot close without
Closing the book at last.


Posted on 10/29/2023
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince

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