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Warrior | Veronica Golos

Written By هشام الصباحي on Friday, 5 June 2015 | 06:14


My past washes back, a low tide,
a haunting song

Like the zing of the arrow
sound has a shape.

Flesh. There will be war.
Witness. Stand on the field

as the ones who are already dead
need you to. Stare. Never let go.

One can not measure
death. I know –

I am the one who cuts---broken
as the edge of your cup

See----the bow I have become, the bones, the arrow – 

man, but not a man.


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