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Mar 2018
The wind cuts to the bone
and hollows out the marrow.
My body light as air,
I fly just as a sparrow.
But I must be a phoenix,
setting fires in the trees,
and watching as my ashes are blown about the breeze
The sky is grey and thundering,
smothering like a shroud,
until Gods golden hand comes down
and reaches through the clouds.
The light is gentle and placid,
not enough to hurt the eyes,
Michael sings, David strums,
overhead the angels fly
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