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Under The Sun

written by: Ted S. Owens

 

Cruel this deathless road
Promising
Lying
Without destination.
Bleeding feet throng the rut
At endless tables gorging
And starving
And after every pleasure
Weary.
Showers are but a torrid ghost
The soul rustles
Parched
Choking on darkness at midday.
What strange homesickness under our own roof
We pursue completeness
To death
But are buried
Unfinished
All currency
Invested in imposters.

Ted S Owens

Ted S Owens

Vietnam veteran living in Virginia.
Ted S Owens

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