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Poetry

Polished skin

  1. A fraying thread now fading red knitting my heart splitting apart.
  2. A crimson rag I glisten tag the lonely tears that hold my fears.
  3. A tattered shawl in battered brawl comforts my back from hurt and crack,
  4. It flood with red from blood I shed, my weighted yoke, deflated, broke.
  5. A scarlet rope ‘round scar-red hope to bind a hole in mind and soul.
  6. A ruddy pin so bloody thin securing pain, injured again.
  7. A cherry cloth, it nary doth erase away the basest ache.
  8. And here I sit so counterfeit with polished skin but mauled within.

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By Kim Siever

Kim Siever is an independent journalist based in Lethbridge, Alberta. He writes daily news stories, focusing on municipal, provincial, and federal politics, specializing in investigative journalism and critical analysis from a leftist political lens. He also writes regular editorials on general politics and social issues.

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