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The Imaginarium:  A creative wasteland

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Hatchet Field

6/17/2013

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As I depart your world I’ll leave you
With one last bit of advice:
 When you decide to bury it, 
Dear,
Be sure to place it well below
The surface.

After all…
I wouldn’t want you trip on the handle
As you are prone to do.
Giving cause to raise an alarm,
Like flags, 
To mark the past 
So carefully left to wave;
Like landmarks,
Nonchalantly
Beckoning the way.

Here!  An injustice!
And here!  A slight!
Some phantom malignancies,
A well placed eulogy to spite.

The ground is pregnant with lead,
A wooden cross for every wrong,
And above your hatchet field still hangs
My unheeded repentant song.

Ten more claws than ears, I’m afraid,
Yet I am not without the blame.
Too many times I lingered here, lost.
How easily the ground gives way. 

Now in the distance, a bell tolls merrily
To mark my death 
And your happiness…
All games are called to cease

Consider your lesson taught
I’ll circumvent your plot
And kindly I will tip my hat to you
For letting me pass through.

Released from loyalty
I transcend, 
But not without my final plea:

Bury it deep this time,
Dear.
I’ll not stand in your way.
But if a change in the wind
Should fell you again,
You’ll not have me to blame.
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    Nakedness

    For many years, I hid my poetry and writings.  It would seem that fear of judgment was an obstacle, the shadow of which I was all-too complacent to hide in.     

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