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At the Tired End
By Lili Hun Who is Not Kipling


In all the mess and confusion,

At the tired end of the day,

There is only this moment,

This breath that tries not to be ragged,

In the half moon

Of your already sleeping embrace,

In the softness of my skin

On your soft hairs...

Here, I try to forget

The hard edges of the world around me,

The disinclination of those long closest to us

To try to understand us,

It being easier to shunt aside the parts of ourselves

Which make them uncomfortable...

Gnawing the daily bread

Of struggle with the physical self

As we near our sunset,

Knowing that complete peace will only come

When one of these ragged breaths

Becomes our last,

And we become again

The reason we have lived,

Living in the hearts

And on the faces

Of those who remain...

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