Empty hands
Offering no true help
False words
Offered on a silver platter
Like the most decadent of treats
Treats one should feel honored to savor
Savor even as they are pushed and pulled
Pulled and tugged and grabbed at
Every which way
No help to be had
At least
Not for me.
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Epiphanies
PoesíaHer mouth opened and words poured forth like so much torrential rain. Completed
