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Poetry: Heartbreak & Healing
UNTITLED
by Jack Hriniak

I take his heart in my hand
and
burn into dust
riding on a midnight wind.
I whisper his dying sounds to sleep
and
tears burn through old dreams without mornings.
My father is dead.
Endless waitings out of sightless windows
and
than
he dies alone
under a silent sky
dreaming of fate.
A lone chord moves in my ear
echoing
between the folds of time.
My father is dead.

 
 
 
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