Photo by Rob Bulmahn
You arrived toward the end of the fourth year,
And immediately gave off something that was off.
Your words and actions hit me internally,
And filled me with a sense of defense.
Your cause defense was not one of favor,
And it was instead an urge to run.
You made me eye you as someone with red pupils,
And these pupils shone to the depths of my soul.
You gave me a force of defeat,
And my paranoia and grudge rumbled like a volcano.
You got the scroll in the usual garb,
And went off to a place to train.
You gave your head a blunt,
And the community was in darkness.
As I look upon what they are saying, all I can say is,
Forgiven.
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About the Creator
Alex Maurice
Short story writer, poet, and essayist.
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