Bitter’s Steed Walks Slow

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Painful thoughts you sit and stew,

Badening memories come from you.

Hate the way you torment me, pry my brain with more longing.

Silent peace at once forgotten, flying angels seem like a concept.

Twisting neurons firing greed, winding my brain to selfish need.

Walking with my head down low, know where I’ve gone and where I’ll go.

Convinced at once with thoughts of doom, reflected by the grey clouds gloom.

Turning pain within my speak, writhing anguish churns in me.

So much loss with cost unknown, too much absence for hope to grow.

Leave me run from bitter’s steed, I have to breathe my soul to ease.

– Thomas M. Watt

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