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ages of prayer

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they say my eyes hold many stories


and maybe it's true


but we are mirrors of each other


and I don't smile for tomorrow like they do



I'm not looking to be right because everyone else


ended up being wrong


that kinda hope ain't no hope at all


just a kind of vengeful smiling despair




so I walk on not saying that I disagree


my eyes got age that my skin don't show


and they don't ask for nothin' so hard they


can't accept somethin'




I want to sit and listen, hear the clouds or whispering


of the trees


but they just got to talk about praying for the lord


and know god walked out the second he was


called on in that manner




I look at him, he stares at me and his


eyes train off at nothing and shadows


and that's what I feel we have in common




cause tonight


a little girl will get lost and found in the village


and lovers will miss each other


old men will complain the way young men do about


the way things used to be


and somewhere compassion is still being dueled out


if by drops from a leaky faucet




it's a skip lonesome as the night and long as the


montana evening in july


but it's mine and take it out where their tomorrow


is still my today


Comments (1)

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Beautifully breathtaking, Pepemagoo.

Zany Lynn
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