So one sits in life.
All around the strife.
From every angle comes life.
Pricking my cushion type strife.
Like missles from far away.
Into my life every day.
Confusion of others ways.
Finds my pin cushion life days.
Conflict from outside fills me.
My cushion of pins like limbs of a tree.
© Copyright 2016 poewhit. All rights reserved.
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