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In Between.






When others look they say a fairy
My glance catches a skeleton
Whitewashed from exposure to the sun
And bent from the trampling
Of travelers who've gone over this desert
With me and without.

But rising from the brittle bones
Is a soul with wings,
Perhaps this is what they see,
Ethereal skin and purity
Like that of a deity.
While pulling down into the earth
Is a phantom of blood and coal
Filled with wants and desires.

The struggle keeps me grounded
And I sit passively exhausted in the
In Between.





A contest entry

    I plan to revise this poem: please leave constructive criticism!
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Comments


  • Maxboy gold member
    November 7, 2008

    Edit | Reply
    This is very good, but I truely hope this is not how you see yourself.

    Well Done....Best wishes in the contest.