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by Logan
Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #2134632
The darkest hour is before dawn

For the ones lost in the shadows
For the ones who cannot shine
For the ones that clouds leave fallow
No silver in their line
No silver in their curb chains
With hallmarks long stamped out
Links weakened under time's strains,
and futures sewn in doubt
Ploughed in barren soil
Backs broke along the way
With crops left out to spoil
A harvest on display
Rotting down, decaying
With no farm hands... on hand
Some produce we're displaying,
it didn't grow as planned
'cause everyone needs tending
… every now and then
Inside we're left pretending
As seasons turn again
Such tapestries we're weaving
Embroidered scenes displayed
With knits and pearls deceiving
At cuffs, we start to fray
Nervously start picking
At threads spent overtime
All the while missing
The reasons in the rhyme
Patterns bold in textures seen,
in bright rags... not our own
Hung on lines in pastures green
Believing what we're shown
Laundry, clean on the breeze,
in gardens, aired in sun
Whilst shrouded in their copse of trees,
for some, the time has come
For ones stuck on the outskirts
Eclipsed by others light
On fringes where we've all hurt
Silent...out of sight
Take heed of subtle silence
Watch out for silhouettes
Seek out signs of subsidence
Lest it slips when we forget
For with the grace of gods we go
… others fated, left behind
Where smallest gestures often show
… the grandest in our minds
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2134632