Moving on to nothing

This is the spot,
the last of everything
where it all
took place and began.

The warm sweat of summer
and the drops that are born,
always rolling
and falling over
the tired faces
and worn-out bodies beneath them.

These are our smiles,
so hopelessly full of strength
while our teeth glare
and our hands
run the railings.

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About Sean O'Gorman

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

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