Zywa
On the run
Strips along the road:
my dreams rose themselves to pieces
torn by their over-pressure
Fellow-sufferers hang in the water
rippled, on broken legs
skinny from waiting
too tired to go on
and not strong enough
to stand still
I only cry tears
that do not come
to relieve or redeem
The light of the lighthouse
swings brightly
but the eye is blind
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