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thanksgiving poetry

with lips blood red and heart of stone
mysterious night
why then, must we see?
are you alive?
grieve not for the invisible
you are clear
i cannot always feel his greatness
there was a strangeness on your lips
out of the deep and the dark
were it not for that singular smell
he'd even have his joke
my soul is a dark ploughed field
stir
the shadows of the ships

 



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