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Clean (poem)

Tunnel me a hole,
In flesh, In Fact, or lies.

I am besotted with a portrait that never ages.
It is not real.
Tell me more.

I came upon the weak with virtuous kneeling,
Humbled by selfless acts,
Building bridges – boundless – joyful.
If I could but bring a flower to a heart,
I could rest that day.
I must say I have rested so very well.
See my hands spread before you.
Taken as fact.
The Lord shines through this one.

If I can but force a hand or two,
I can rest a while.
Several more, and many more,
I’ll twist the screw.
Smiles are my cunning,
Words draw the blood.
You’ll see me – You’ll know me
But draw me close or don’t,
My rope is looped all the same.

And so you see my portrait never ages,
But tired eyes and tired smiles –
And schemes and Lies –
Melt to ash.

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