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Channel: Erik Estabrook | Poet » Erik’s Poetry
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Darkness

Darkness Darkness, sparks wit, find your moral compass, leaves shed their first skin, becoming one with the Earth again, Bloom and bloom again, as people converse with angels Sparking heavens...

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End Up Blessed

Lend me your passenger ear, for the lonesome clouds are louder here, Take the forsaken signs of loves vast pool, and let me know that the cross is in you, Take my hollow-tree-trunk-eyes for once shape...

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Autistic Runaway

So many lights, voices and fear, So much noise is bursting my ears, No place is safe, no place is safe, Even from home I need a break, I always run when I’m distraught, Watching my legs spin, around...

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Sidewalk Gathering

Sidewalk Gathering to the great musicians who never make it big Someone stole your last pair of boots, as you wind down that lonesome road, That’s the thanks you get for a hell of a show, Would you...

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Reaching Out

Reaching out sometimes involves reaching over sprawling mountains and above the sky, It involves phantom footwork, lots of muscles, and the further you go, the harder the climb, Voices call from caves...

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All Things Noted

A poet has no rights but the right to explain the silence He moves between thunderstorms and harsh words critics cry” that’s the most absurd use of verbage” but I’m not a passerby on life’s spinning...

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The Puzzling Page

What does truth mean when taken so standoffishly? What does love mean to those who see it abstractly? When we hope for heaven are we being cowards? Too live a life of back and forth and expect a kings...

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Everything Anew

Have you grasped a fall? Held it in your clutches, stole its gold, and painted your windows with it, so you could stare at a shattered soul? The time to tear up and redeem is at hand, We aren’t...

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Newly Born

That furnace is the mantle, Where trial fires make their curses, How the surface raises its gavel, Shunned to none but to all they own, That trumpet revel is the sign, That all the stars have aligned,...

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I’s

I once overheard the aftermath chorus to my words, “I was borrowed, Sir” Like an item on the pantry that this world has no use for, Yet duplicity finds a lack of the ego-self pleasing to the mind, When...

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