Have you heard

I wasn’t going to reblog this one, not wanting to tempt fate, but it’s too good not to.

Graceful Press Poetry

the sound of an old dream dying
a sighing, distant muffled drop
to the bottom of a deep, deep well?
Well. With great politeness bred
of long association, it won’t
let you near its helpless rage;
its shadow song is always
alone, padding softly
down long twisting halls
away from the stone-closed door

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Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

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