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The Saint of Words
written by: emdonnelly7
It waits at the bottom of an old desk drawer.
Yellowed around edges with wrinkles.
Waiting to be loved again. Given a second chance.
An edge is burned and some of the words have faded.
A semblance of Bukowski's face, but not so tainted.
Still, there is some purity below the circles and deep folds.
Even after spilled beer with nothing to show.
Every once in a while it hears a rustle.
It prays to the saint from the light above.
Because his heart is filled with verses of love.