oh tomorrow I'll regret
all my blasphemous rages
I'll be softer and kinder
and calmer than today
but even then
all damage underlies
the pitiful vows to amend
underneath every repentance
is still a pile of dirt
waiting for a shovel to inter you
and all the good you thought
you were doing is the crass joke
of souls who do not wish you well...
the Light too far away to be seen or to matter...
Content (c) 2008-2013 Philip Milito. all rights reserved.
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