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Jan 2013
Eternity ponders the worms of black rapture,
And the Grave lingers in reflective agony.
A wanderer emanates luscious abandonment.
Listen!

Blood shines like the ghost's Bed.
Shall not my love blow bubbles in purple despair?
The wind quivers in fermented Red rose.
The sunset fiddles with well-deserved sorrow.
Written by
Olan Douglas Webb
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