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Napture

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Your napghter
Your napture
is like some deadly contagion.
You are like spent white heat.
Gray asleep.
Sawing sleet.
We are the children of the hour
Reared once
in a second dour
Our dreams fall softly like ashes
Turned from the sky
Blanket vision
And mollify, stiffen
The youngest, a Terracotta army
Our bones settled
Striving
Nothing but paper shadows.



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MermaidInDisguise said...
Apr. 9, 2012 at 3:45 pm:

I adore the imagery! I don't know if I'm interpreting it the way you imagined, but it makes me think of our generation and the uncertain and perhaps bleak future we have ahead of us.

Or flying unicorns. :)

 
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