Departure

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Departure

My mind reeks of dead plots and unsung poetry
Unsettling imageries, weak symbolisms 
And mediocre works of art 
Which flicker and fade before my eyes 
Like a ball of light running thorough the woods, 
Observed from a bemused lens 
Before the final click; 

But it escapes, 
Vowing never to return again. 
I still hear those starved voices, 
Empty yet sharp 
Like Father’s sandals on my bare brown back. 
Even when I plead, it changes not. 
For what is gone leaves a shadow, 
A silhouette without a presence- 
And I am left slamming my elastic palm 
Upon my chiseled forehead.

READ ALSO:  Tribulation

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