FIGHTER… a poem

man's hand and chains
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Tear my mind away from the traps that lay within

Hold tight, steadfast and true to the belief that I have purpose

Refuge is not a place of ideology

But a place of triumph from battles fought

Wash these callused hands in the blood of my forefathers

Hold tight to the truth of their sacrifice of yesteryear

Beware, as ancestry too, has places of darkness

For rage and intolerance follow the path of their iniquities

Enlightenment dissuades the beast inside

Constraints, no matter their strength, can break

Take heart and lean into love

For only in this we shall we be victorious and find peace

THE STORM

THE STORM

In melodramatic debauchery

Where dreams sit like

Birds on icicle fences…

Where oceans lap upon

The sands

Like strident lovers…

Caressing and callous…

Sounding for words

In fathomless depths…

A storm approaches…

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