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For they look upon,<br />
Smiles bitterly placed<br />
On those masks of washed out…-<br />
Hope?<br />
Far too long have those creased eyes<br />
Gazed inside with no sign of<br />
That soft, soft warmth<br />
Emptied eight years ago at the local boneyard<br />
With its polished floors and<br />
Powder white coats<br />
Diagnosis confirmed.<br />
Dropped their heavy bags<br />
Their chains and their crosses;<br />
Dead silver and gold to rot on the earth.<br />
Too late to turn their backs<br />
And watch the dull glint<br />
Of everything they left<br />
Fade.<br />
And yet whatwhat<br />
is that<br />
Crack in the glass curtain-<br />
Oh, how sweetly it resounds!<br />
Held in that little wheeled<br />
Cage<br />
Of course.<br />
Why does<br />
She sing and hum<br />
Whimsical trickles of hope?<br />
Even though I<br />
Scream inside<br />
and nothing comes out.<br />
And when her tiny feet kiss the ground<br />
In vain, not to last<br />
When that now outstretched hand<br />
Can no longer be clutched<br />
When those placid notes finally wither away,<br />
A fate tattooed into her wrinkled sky,<br />
She will still smile.<br />
Screams long overdue<br />
Flood my worn, worn<br />
throat<br />
At her pain<br />
At my pain.<br />
And almost,<br />
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