La Prima Stazione

29 Apr

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So is it true

that love never quite fits

the soul’s need

nor

the body’s desire

nor

the heart’s yearning,

but  hangs

like the hope

in a

hand me down

for a limbo lost

child.

Rome doesn’t really

know anymore.

Maybe it’s just a

part of purgatory,

like a ghost child

waiting for the train,

in a phantom station

searching

for the hand

that just

let go.

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