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Fortress

Rating: 4.3

It isn’t but to pass, the waning hour
Of desire and that opportunity nearly squandered -
The soul’s calloused scars of never-ending promise,
Denied in the vitriolic stream of unrelenting time.
She marches onward, unaware and unconcerned -
The iron pots that catch the winter rain, at first,
Giving life, before yielding to the springtime larvae
That aim to take it - unaware of the original intent.

This isn’t about the fawn, the calf, or the

Wide-eyed infant fixated on spinning toys
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Tears In Rain 04 September 2005

Reborn out of the flames like the Phoenix. Wow..This is certainly one legitimate perspective.

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Herbert Nehrlich1 06 December 2004

Excellent. We witnessed Mt.St Helens eruptions in 1980 while living in Washington State. Your mind works well. H

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Lenchen Elf 06 December 2004

If the spirit of hope burns bright: -) lovely, thank you

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