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written by: TM DiSarro



You keep bad memories banished to a secret box abode, to help you cope and keep you safe so you do not implode, from such a monumental crush relentless bearing down, that keeps you trampled underfoot with your face to the ground.

The weight of words or worth of life determined with a lie, are justified through time and tide and self-preserving pride. Fear like thread sews up the dead lips wishing to reveal, the secret things that abuse brings and true love that we feel.

The warp and woof and simple proof on pages upon page, of words impaled with sharp details in fits of written rage. You hold back pain and love and tears like air blown in a bubble, and when you take a chance to share you jeopardize it double.

You jump too soon and sway and swoon and think it's love you're in, but soon enough when things get rough you're pierced through with a pin. To pop your fate as you deflate for all the world to see, and rather than confront the truth it's easier to flee.

For running is a state of mind to measure our control, it makes us feel that we're in charge while everything unfolds. We keep our feelings under wrap like presents under trees, we move about like nothing's wrong and doing what we please.

But after a while the phony smiles will start to hurt your face, you'll spend your time somewhat sublime and staring into space, as people sadly pass you by and wonder where you went, you'll curse the day that you were born and useless life you spent.

So count your blessings on one finger, then toss it in the air, life is worthless to be sure if you never share. All that's left are memories of stories you were told, and opportunities you miss now that you are old.

You count the hours like enemies quickly closing in, and fear will be your god of choice as time is wearing thin. One night you'll open up a doorway to a blinding light, then the very thought of you will vanish out of sight.



From the collection: THOMAS CADENCE

TM DiSarro

TM DiSarro

I do not consider myself a writer but I love to write. Neither a poet but I love poetry. I steal bits and pieces of time to scratch out ideas on note books, laptops and cell phones. I live and work in Florida fabricating custom canvas and other fabric products and sometimes costumes.
TM DiSarro

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