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Outsiders
The years! Give way. Give away
Barrels of Salvation Army eternal blue skirts
Hospital clothes under a starving sky.
The years donate us to the resale shop of hard luck,
When the laughing whining young children we once were grow up into uncertain chords, struggling to fathom the mystery of stereo gossip.
When tagged antiques and broken shriveled mannequins and Lord of the Rings DVDs and Enya CDs and forgotten novels pass under the CLOSED sign at the end of the day,
Tangled wires and broken junk lie awake in our souls, too late for the night sale, we slip into the clothing racks of reality
Like dirty faced dolls and once-happy dolls, we slip away
Behind the CLOSED sign, pretending we know where we are in this resale shop.
Kind eyes glaze when they see us, our cardboard smiles, hung with tennis wire on our faces, waiting for help,
Waiting for a star, so we can escape the cracks of flimsy, collapsing hard luck tales.
Waiting to hear we are gold and not bits of resale change slipped into God’s rainy jar, out in a cold cold universe
Waiting for shelter and diamond gem statues
Blooming from this compost heap and the trash and treasureless words, we’re all stuck inside, waiting to be sorted out for a half-price destiny
Hearing only bells and registers and eternal radio songs
In the random baskets and changing shelves we are all inside
Sometimes saying goodbye and sometimes shining bright
With the hope of stars drifting like quarters across the night sky, when the night sky is just a great big hard-luck box collecting its love while God allows.
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Favorite Quote:
"It Will Be Good." (complicated semi-spiritual emotional story.)<br /> <br /> "Upon his bench the pieces lay<br /> As if an artwork on display<br /> Of gears and hands<br /> And wire-thin bands<br /> That glisten in dim candle play." -Janice T., Clockwork[love that poem, dont know why, im not steampunk]