(Burning Drafts)

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The rain is all over

Standing under the tree

the dew still in the air

both cleansed and redeemed

I get a box of drafts

let the poetry fuel my warmth

the fire burns...

years turn to smoke

unadorned...

a lump in my throat

I think of what could have been

the tears make me choke

my eyes sting ugly as hell

The rain returns

ambition as pure as a bell

the fire goes out

 

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