Soul Pressed Poetry

Poetry that comes from our soul.

wreaked (16 July 2011)

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nowadays when I go for a run
I run to the bay
where the ships
wreaked themselves on the rocks

it was a common scene
back then, some made it
some didn’t. I wonder
when the lighthouse got built…

I run to this bay because the quarry
got shut down
and now the naked cliffs
are slightly gorged

and it feels ok to scream

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