Poetic Caresses

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Trip the Dance

October 18, 2005
Mired in the strains of days
Mores confines me in this cage
Expectations push my bounds
Limits met, essence is drowned

Labor to meet all demands
Caught up short fall to my hands
Cry in outrage at the strain
The tension too much to contain

So-called 'help' a hindrance
Up the tempo, trip the dance
Delivering the writ of ways
As feasible as endless days

Demanding superhuman might
So certain that they know my plight
As seeing as a deafened bat
Their arrogant self-eminence

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