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epic poetry

the single clenched fist lifted and ready
we break the glass whose sacred wine
lo! 'tis a gala night
rising moon has hid the stars
he's gone
give me hunger
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
i do not pray for peace
i make my shroud, but no one knows
with joy and wonder
i saw you hunched and shivering on the stones
the snow whispers about me
when sea-winds pierced our solitudes
i love my life, but not too well

 



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