An emptied sky speaks more of what was
Than a cluttered sky could of what is.
If you plucked me from my place,
Alas, you'd find me still there longer:
Whispering, through my absence,
The things that you tried to throw away.
A contest entry
- Gone... by Randomly Beautiful.
400 points, ended July 29, 17 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
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Comments
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Nice write. Thank you for the entry.
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