Rain water puddles are the seagulls’ birdbath
While standing at the edge of the unpaved path
Jacket pocket is home to torn threads
Barely holding the notes of thoughts unread
Cold air hits the back of ears
Listening to the sound of many fears
Self-expression, the barring of one’s soul
Captured by a love that has no control
An enemy of the realistic present
Tortured by this strange attachment
Desire for the message to be heard
Felt, embodied, and read word-by word
Silence separates the connection of two
The grass along the path loses its dew
Seagulls fly away together as one
Cannot change what has already been done
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