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Walking the Blade and Dying With Strangers

By

Rusty Broadspear

Like juggling fine china

We walk the blade

Falling, surviving

And always afraid.



A snowflake falls

To itís death.

A young child tastes

His final breath.





Walking the blade

Through shimmering tears,

Tired and worn

As darkness nears.



I love you and

I donít know your name.

No need for goodbyes

Or the hand of blame.



Feeling cool comfort

We lay in the shade.

Itís all over now that

Weíve walked the blade



And we die with strangers........

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