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Toll of the Bell

My heart is aching.
It’s empty.
Surrounded by
pink flowers –
The bell tolls in
We inaugurated it
It tolls for the paupers.
It tolls for the unbroken.
It tolls upwards.
It fills the sky.
Bird is flying.
Its soft white wings
give pleasant
pigeon smell.
Blessed is the hand,
that gives.
Blessed is mine, too –
from today.
I’d like to give,
To share out the none.
Neon light of yellow table
Mirrors the shadow
of my hand.
Pencil writes on the paper
about a material, that hurts.
My eyes are aching.
Glowing in red.
The scaling caul
of my soul
is in it.
The black soot is
melting and crumbling.
Today the pain
is over.
The wounds are red,
but they’ve been
healing from today.
I’ve been alive
from today.
The soul stands up
carefully and groggily.
The wounds are aching.
The weight is pulling.
We inaugurated
a bell yesterday.
The bell tolls.
It fills the soul.
Agony disengaged
The hand’s
Blessed is the god.
I’m blessed –
by him.
Today I write.
The paper’s been
alive again
from today.
We inaugurated
a bell yesterday.
The weight is pulling.
The air is lifting me.
Current is flowing.
Its warm caress
covers my eyes.
It’s so good.
New blood.
New heart.
New soul.

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