Posted in Poems

The Wary

Unaware of the life she holds
Unaware of the mind she molds
Unaware of a boy seven feet off
Unaware that he is to die in his bedroom loft
Not seeing where she has gone wrong
But by the time she sees, he will be long gone
Her life is a statue in times great mist
She does not see, so she’s always missed

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I'm a writer, filmmaker, and Human. I think...

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