poetry, Uncategorized

The Wealth of the Broken

He falls through a bough of a broken branch

Fighting the grass onto which he lands

He steps onto the plain with one simple cry

When he slammed his finger into his first lie

One he told very long ago

To avoid himself and avoid his soul

The grass is all over and between his fingers

Like his lie the green stains linger

It wasn’t his fault, he tells himself

But his lies have become his only wealth

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