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Past Lives

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Many dark afternoons.

 

Of skies filled with clouds,

Banging and bowling out thunder.

 

Pouring down rain.

 

A mother sobbing.

 

 

Then of course, all of those accidental slips into flooding ditches.

 

Like a fucking dead cat,

Rotting in a dumpster.

 

That's how the end was.

 

Comments (3)

This comment was minimized by the moderator on the site

Wow! I think this poem is stunning in its brevity with an infusion of rawness at the end. I loved it. I think it's your best.

Joshua Hennen
This comment was minimized by the moderator on the site

Thank you much for the compliment And I now know what brevity means

wickedwahine_69
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The mood, the intensity, the pain, all spilled out in a flood with a thunderous voice! Powerful and thought provoking.

Jennygirl
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