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BOUZOUKIA.jpg 2Like a bard
about the Chaos of Life
I sing.

At the far end of the hall
the orchestra,
a tuned up marionette,
with frayed scores, beats time.

“Wounded  Souls”
captives and warders
besieged by the self
whirl about the dance floor.

Illusory settings of blissfulness;
solitude claims the leading part
on the stage of night.

© Ann Marie Zagorianos. All rights reserved

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