A refuge

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A refuge

I cry at night,
between sighs.
Trying to block the hurt,
 cover up the lies.
But no one seems to care;
though they may say.
I wait for a light
to come take me away.
I see it sometimes,
shining so bright
at the end of a tunnel
when i dream at night.
Is it an end
to all my hurt and shame?
A bucket for my tears.
A refuge for my pain.

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Poetry is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality.

T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

s12holly’s Poems (2)

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