Through dreary eyes I spy the lonesome figure of Misery, dancing in the shadows of darkness.
Her outstretched arms begging for a painful embrace.
I waste no time with small talk, I am in flight- An eagle on the prowl of the spectacular.
Resting on the flimsy branches of choice, I close my eyes to the spy that was me.
For how can I make it home-when I know not where my heart is.
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Comments about this poem (The Dawn by shahmill mcallister )
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