Done, not finished.

We seek it
while others sleep,
walking off
to grow weak
and insane
from watching so much of this dance
turn real.
I’d like to have
and hold her at the same time,
seeking through realms
where those perfect hands
open all the doors
that’ve ever been fully locked,
like those torn-out trees
we thought would never grow back.

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About Sean O'Gorman

Spoken Word poet from Ottawa. View all posts by Sean O'Gorman

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