The Dog

They called you 'primitive' dear friend,
and I confused in my affections.
 
How backwards they are!
For it is you who are confused,
and I who am primitive.
 
I who fall so short of grace,
as to be lost in a sea of darkness,
that though I reach through the bars,
 to touch that warm light,
 
I am imprisoned,
 by a love of condition.
 
I cannot love such as you,
to sit at my side,
and see nothing but goodness.
 
This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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