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No. 1

We

bled
in black and white
across the bright red fields
which are

dyed
with the intensity of a lover.

Our minds

cloud
with the dreams of stillness
that will never

settle
as long as we shall live.

War

blinded
with hate and with agony
because we are not what they

damned
us to be.

The first of the evening

replies
that vultures

feed
on the dying.

We, the weak
are first.





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