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David Hilburn Mar 28
Slow Joe
Have a heaven, the order, to sulk?
With the ought, a handsome moment
Considered an angel's heed, will we ever fall?

Why?
Avid as salt is, we are owed...
A pace of might, the times are real, to sigh's
Stirring a house for a flower, sincerity is our force?

Our salvation of promises, still a world
We made, with an overt harmony
Two of unity, one of vanity, and none blessing courage
With the muse we made, simplicity with legend, only?

Tired eyes, that came with life...
Saying if not saving, a chance meeting
With bared integrity, a fire striving
To be, the coming choice, of a worth's meaning?

The world owed, the world loved
Cares of omnipotence, fate to understate purpose
Passion is but a wish away, from a covenant's some
Promises found to be, a climate for what heaven knows...

— The End —