The Dove

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The Dove

Beaten broken bruised and abused

Wandered in silence knowing the used

Life was not that one he had longed

Needed more wanted more craving so strong

Vivacity left such little choice

Opting he chose and listened the voice

Defeat was soon seen the beginning was meth

Jousted off reason from now mind new fresh

Held it in tightly cancelled out noise

New found freedoms comfortable poise

Relaxed sedulity faded to rest

That wanting his longing a craving the test

Sensing soon the rush would impair

Held it in deeper drowned out despair

Faint whispers of time still linger the air

Silent chord struck his reality's there

Single minute dawned to all that was left

Soon escaped lung a last dying breath

A promise he said he gave it his best

Steady battered the drum his aching was death

Heart quickened instant a choice had been done

Sealed his beat and ended the strum

Life weakened now he knew it be done

Knowing his horrors of what had begun

To all he wished well an enemy won

Needed more feeling and knowing of love

Absolute rest he dreamt of above

God will soon damn him for he was no dove

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A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

vanyajbrier’s Poems (2)

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