Blade of Existence

May 31, 2009
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Canvas grown by black abyss,
Emptied lake, yet filled with mist,
The old torn air, cut by that blade of existence.

It stabbed so deep, the blood dared shed
On our sunburnt world, still our moonlit shed
Holding worthiness and being.

Where first light dawned was our war torned fate,
Was that knife thrown, or was it fate?





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