Tailored Words
In the dark light of this winter morn, I see
The clothes that I am expected to wear
(Though, maybe, the fault of illusion lies with me)
From overuse, have become threadbare
Nothing there…
In a cloak of blue, I steal through these lanes
Measuring myself, roughly, for something new
A suit of humour, to cover my pain
A coat of hope, to stop the doubt shining through
Do not fit true…
This protective subterfuge cannot last long
So, with the aura of my old hide, around me spread
(Without my own skin I feel so wrong)
In this cloth that is woven from transparent thread
Words, unaltered, from my head…must soon be said…
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