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Rated: E · Poetry · Environment · #1518796
a poem i have written.
when looking at a blank page ghosts of white, mind
wanders to places, where places write themselves
where people love live and are equal.
Crosses burn upon seas of moving snow, moving
through the dessert's dunes of flooding homes.
Places, if you're thinking, you're winning, you're
already free occupied, activated people wake from
the comas of media.
media mables launch trapper keepers out of their
black night's gun's.
We are only as strong, as our weakest tool, as the
clouds whisping above as the earth moving flowing
beneath our feet.
When our hearts stop, the ground ceases to beat
the oceans cease to flow and the air is grasped from
our lungs, stolen.
On a bed of coals as hot as the eyes of a childs grin,
of a mothers love for; when earth gives way when lands
shake and studder.
wizards, who controls our past (clowns dance in your
face), to control the future apostles bring word (when
destroyers meet), the present is a gift from the soil,
from above.
(keep your coins) we need your wealth, eat your soul
to cash our company checks, (check the accounts,
accountability is as blank checks are to children.)

Eat your fear swallow your love, (curse the name of fire)
slam the pews toward ( podium's the pew of a word's maestro)
prayer for souls of earth and soil.
The anit-manifesto brings hills to our attention brings the night
(to dawn's) mighty and cold reach above clouds lined with
accountability.
Born, as ghosts burnt as ash. flames and fire.
Before forty is fifty and sixty is the end fire loves the ribs of
men.
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