flecks of gold spring
living buried beacons
from the miring mud
that is this lost life
shall we together dredge the muck
for this trapped treasure?
is this wealth worth the wearying work?
till the end it is…till the end
then watch what we forge
Reading your poetry makes me wish I still wrote songs and poems. It’s been a while.
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Thank you, this is a high compliment. Writing is a muscle…just restart and before you know it the strength will return.
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