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Photo by Pablò on Unsplash

Setting the meal of the soul.

If I said I was a cowboy
would you try to rope me in?

Can’t help it if I’m crying tears of dust
the rust of washed-up dreams aching in my joints.

See you standing there
imaginations static in the breeze.
Turbines combing gears grinding slow.
Gentle laugh lifts the soul.
Wonder creases hardest nights,
followed by pain and turmoil in the soup.
I feel you laughing giving peace.
Leaves rustle in a scare leave me with a start,
but the comfort of hurt reminds life in these bones.

Come take me by the hand.
Lead me if you think you can.
Won’t worry bout’ the weather or the color of the sky.
Help me, save me from the dogs bitting fiercely without a purpose or care.
Do they have a cause?
Destroy and mangle just to hurt.
I need to know and feel the hope:
Just a soul will be there for my hug.

To all those seeking in the dark.
Rest and rise again.
Light will shine through your broken pain.
Break the glass a little more.
The cracks will give you the strength to live again.

If I said I was a cowboy
would you try to rope me in?

Giddy-up!

Bringing real feelings along with messages of inspiration and imagination to life. Awakening is the symptom of my infectious condition. Poetry is my condition.

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