glowing selves

 How close we come to selves which glow
 a past a chain which holds us still,
bury the anger like a fist in the dirt, 
but the mind still remembers the age of hurt,
 battered words and weeping skin, 
loneliness where lights are dimmed
silence as a ghost foresees,
I am distant and ill at ease for all these eyes I never sought, 
and all those hopes I can't replace, 
for me to search with common face,
 the dreams of an iron king


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