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Poem #334

She almost becomes one with people.
She immerses herself in one’s body and 
emerges carrying out their pain and sorrow. 
The burden gets too hard to carry and
people just keep piling on. They are biting
the hand that fed them help.  

Her bones break, her shoulders cannot carry the load.
When her body hits the ground there’s no one to pick her up.
The dust settles on a body that has a cold touch to it now.
It’s the death of an empath. 
 

15 replies on “Poem #334”

A lovely and concise artistic expression of the emotional intensity of the empathic poetess, solitary in mood like a shooting star on a lonely mountaintop, whose beauty nonetheless shines on and on.

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