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The Silent Ones
The Silent Ones
A bittersweet embrace
the ones who are left thinking of the ones left behind
a rapturous roar, sanctity is nothing more than peace
a holistic cleansing, that left only the hands clean
soft avenues through bathroom stalls,
bleeding fences,
trees aware of it all,
what was known as light is now the sign
run plenty, run far and you'll survive
an ellusive question, what is pain?
something everyone knows like a viral stain,
but we are the silent ones
shuned to corners
pruned like hedges
raped like pieces of meat
we are the scavengers
ravaging with words
proped up on highlighted pursuits of Adam and Eve's fruit
we are the silent,
poems are our voice.
by Erik Estabrook
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