A bench

I’m just trying to walk,
take to the misplaced
the way
I did before
and all the while
there’s been only turns and corners.
I’m going on and on
with nothing to see
but a faded horizon,
simply blurred against the tips
of my eyes
as the ground lifts away
to let me crash
and finally stop
these aching legs.

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About Sean O'Gorman

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

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