Old School
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Book II – Part 13 – In Wilderness Years
Like trees of an orchard watered by the wells of a scorching stream. What garden has borne fruit in a desert so, I wonder? For blossoms are not possible if the land is watered from down below. Continue reading
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Book II – Part 9a – To a Wild Rose
For the scent of roses tell their death (their fireside shriv’ and wither) so it seems a rose will never die if it grows amongst the heather Continue reading
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Book I – Part 9 – Metamorphosis
Following close behind the dreams that fall (like the molting scales of a butterfly’s cocoon) the shell of a young man’s dreams does pale (at every turn) Continue reading
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The Hero’s Gaze
The hero’s gaze welcomes you to come aboard. To share his chance at glory, at a glance. “Come fly with me,” He gargles and spits into your horrif-eyes. The chaps across the bramble, a cushion Against the bristle of his life. Continue reading
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The Wind
The wind speaks the language of the mournful (but I don’t care) inside this house the wind is silenced, by the clapping of the clapboards, the barking of the trees, the shuddering of the shingles, and the rasping of the leaves (this house is empty except for me). Continue reading
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The Laughing Vagabond
That his speech seemed with well-intention, mattered to me not, but the tortured man had reached into my heart of tangled knots, and found a shriveled wound. Continue reading
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