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Could a softness replace
This hardness you call
Your healing hands?
I would prefer the calloused,
Wart-encrusted, flaky fingers
Of my witch-grandmama
To the psudo silky touch
That you offer so readily
To lost souls and wounded soldiers.
For behind your gentle pressing
Upon pain,
Is a razor sharp cut to the soul.

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The following comments are for "Cut"
by cats3000

cold slice
Have found your titles intriguing...and left to wonder where you are really at? There is something unreachable in your poetry. Good, bad, or line runs hot while the next line runs cold. Poetry reaches the soul, and your writing style certainly does. Still intrigued.

( Posted by: C.L. Mareydt [Member] On: June 16, 2003 )

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