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Six Seven

a Poem by soma

six-seven long ago he lost the need
to keep the fire lit in the attic high above
where nothing cleaned or spoke aloud
of all the troubles they had seen

well it troubled me to think that he
such a small young thing floating
through the thread of yesterday
would give up on something
give up something
give up

entirely give up on something made
of tougher than skin that he
such a small young thing
would give up entirely
and hush the fire
high above