Pinholes, by T.F. Burke
through my tears, and my strife, i see pinholes of light, the entrance to, a slightly elevated quality of life, i feel so close, until storms throw me back, keep trudging, searching for qualities i lack, the entrances now guarded,not showing signs of any slack,
disregarded and dismissed, wanting to try, but failure kissed, matters not, the extent to which i insist, sitting in rooms of evaporated dreams, being choked by the mist
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