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It’s a dark cold room.

Fear stricken…reaching out for the wall,

Am I not African…am I not man?

Am I not the warrior fathers call?

Am I not protector of my Vatican?

Am I not the sound of hope standing tall?

A lie just for doom.

The room is locked.

Is this a curse for me to bow?

Can this just be a dream?

Can a facade screen the now?

Can a man just have his cream

And not bother how?

Trying to keep a man workt.

There is a key.

Leant on the door as a cotton tuft,

Squeezed on the knob as a juice box,

Scary space, could be a loft,

Can’t figure, no cocks,

Just a mellow fellow, soft.

An escape hoping to see.

©Kim D.2016 



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