a box of springs
opening to a roll of paper
clashed with the notion of hurriedness
hiding something untold and undoing
centered to the extremities held so dearly
flashing colors of nostalgia
red
white
black
blue
this old town never held this box
filled with many a tear and woe
it once held straw
fed to a beast
forged with whip and booming voice
a tame and gasping yelp
despair so close that it grips the throat
leaves hand and hooves quivering
pace by pace weakening the knees
a slave or tool
of animal or being
worn down joints melding with tattered cloak
the man
the beast
one flesh
two beats
both beast
one kind
one tempered
the simple mind
turns and yields a process of progress
the end of the day comes
a field sowed then gleaned
agricultural circles
closed in this box
passed and buried behind
(KEEP IN MIND I WROTE THIS A LONG TIME AGO!! just found it.. *shrug*)
( I need help with line breaks, etc)
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