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Aug 2017
The precipice reaches out for me,
with gnarled fingers on bony hands,
tugging, pulling, forcing me,
toward the edge.

Freefalling into the abyss,
where words and verse form,
sometimes, rarely, maybe,
other times a gem forms.

Shining in the blackness,
plucked and shined,
and displayed,
for all to see and criticize.
The Fire Burns
Written by
The Fire Burns  M/Artesia, NM
(M/Artesia, NM)   
74
 
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