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gothic poetry

i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
a bird sang
i do not pray for peace
those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars
stuff of the moon
that year
to what shall a woman liken her beloved
never in all my life
the body may confine
to some the fat gods
there was a strangeness on your lips
afraid no more, i say
in an old chamber softly lit

 



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