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Feb 2015
-


this page of leaves
blowing smoke of the
burning woman inside her
convenient misery
-
this, her offspring
failure to launch
-
the babes of her
black bossom bugeoning
with brokenness
delinquent
-
now does her pride purloined
of a place In the world
deliver under death
the kindred kindled
blood
-
the substance of her support
now darker . drained
the black lillies
of her bed soon
broken of
spirit
smouldering
-
she wishes the furnace
to burn away
all but
love
-
the world of her nature
still nourishing the
swarthy children of her
caligraphic countinance
forever distracted
and distraught
-
producing naught
but despair
and
d
i
s
a
p
p
e
a
r
i
n
g

i

n


k


soulsurvivor
(C) 2/11/2014
I think of whatever I create
as a sort of a child

I have no child to carry on
after me so I hope my work
will be held in perpetuaty
-
SøułSurvivør
Written by
SøułSurvivør
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