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sitting alone
on the frozen ground
just outside the wall
the wind whistling through
the shreaded bits of my soul
my fingers are taped together
my eyes are inside-out
my toolbox is nearly empty
only one or two jagged edges
and broken handles
hope fades
as time passes
and there's only enough light
to see that
the dead lay all around me
and i was the coward
who stole from them

© 2002 (23 september) john r. chase