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sex poem

full of tears
afraid no more, i say
green afternoon serene and bright
truely
i make my shroud, but no one knows
desolate and lone
darkest, strangest mystery
in halls of sleep you wandered by
the snow whispers about me
if i had known how narrow a prison is love
why are the things that have no death
like eagles on up high
beneath the warrior's helm

 



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