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Jan 10
cracked cement ramparts,
a less than mighty bastion,
  swamp cooler overflow,
   drool down the battlement.
    behind the stockade walls,
     faceless generals barked
      orders to their private troops,
       drilled their little soldiers.
           β€œwelcome to my castle.”
       you call this a castle?
      heat throbbing off the
     parking lot convinced me
    to chance crumbling stairs.
   and there, step four, flight two,
  i bumped into my white knight.
okay, maybe more like gray.
i’ll compr with silver.
Written by
Kellin  16/FTM
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