Poetry: In My Gladness

Where are all the thousand cuts?
who do they speak for now
what do they whisper
in the wind?

Where are all the haunting notes
which echoed endless so
as hot tears stained
the aging floor?

Where are all the lonely thoughts
which sat so long weeping
in furthest reaches
of my mind?

Where are all the piercing words
from stoic citadels of rage
upon whose ears
do they land?

Mine is not to wander aimless
reaching in fading mists
yet rather stay long
in my gladness.


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