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Poetry

Morning Song

sophulate  

With strength of brittle bones,

First beam plays fearfully like

Early vulnerable pawns.


Hum’s thrusting spike

Will always be the Morning Song

That makes it sound alike


With the resonance of gong.

Each egoistic night, was full

Of expectations. Was it long


And painful to a fool —

The cruel nature of the flesh?

Which stunning tool


Will fix the failure dash

Embarrassment of soul?

Embrace pulsating fash


Surprising to a man —

This neverending clash

Of what you want and what you can.

April 4, 2022

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