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The Swans

Gliding on a lake of doom
Engulfed in the darkness
Their feathers can’t illuminate
Entwined by only whom
They’re comfortable
It is their fate.

Dancing under a cobblestone bridge
Impressing those who watch
Gracefully hovering over
The scattered moonlight
And tar.

The crowd sits and watches
As two swans swiftly move
Their eyes compliment the sparkles
Of iridescent doom.

A drunken man stands and shouts
“Swans cannot dance!”
So he raises the gun over his head
But shoots himself
Instead.



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