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Grace

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By Sara WynnPublished 2 years ago 1 min read
Grace
Photo by Joel Filipe on Unsplash

It was all a funhouse illusion:

warped mirrors, heartache confusion.

Lights twinkle dim in a music cloud,

spinning in a loud delusion.

A glass house I made with these two hands

for a man made of rolling stones

trying to rebuild with broken glass

long after the grace to let go.

Sleeping with dangerous addictions

like murderers without convictions;

losing myself to sparkling quicksand,

sweet owner of my heart’s contusion.

Red portraits painted with bleeding hands

quickly bruise the whitest of snow

A glass house I made with these two hands

for a man made of rolling stones

trying to rebuild with broken glass

long after the grace to let go.

heartbreak

About the Creator

Sara Wynn

Poetry is my language, and Earth is my playground.

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    Sara WynnWritten by Sara Wynn

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