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May 2010
I sit here
on these empty battlements
built brick by bitter brick
to guard around my heart
that most fragile *****.
I overlook the battle of my spirit and will
only to hear your voice
speaking my fears into reality.
As I watch
one foe turns spectral in form,
vanishing in mist.
Leaving me dejected,
frustrated in my deliberations.
Showing me the true nature
of this deceit;
the most horrible kind
that
of the Self.
© October 2003 Flying Lynx Press
Written by
R Moon Winkelman
553
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