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hillside at white horses
hammering sacred staves
into old pages
Once turned infinitely
and once more finally
mindlessly memorized and snared
by Peter's pounding hooves
moving swiftly to be
pigment only recognized
by crimson reigns
in the final man made sea
hillside at the answer
master of no cause
athiest in the rapture
lost apocolypse...
for apocolptic loss
poetry is fun. let's do more
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shockandawe
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