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*~*~*~*~*
This poem was written with humor in mind, and, although it may be interpreted somewhat literally, perhaps it does indeed boast a deeper meaning.
In any case, I would very much appreciate your input, so feel free to comment at any time.
*~*~*~*~*
Curse the clumsy wayward kin,
This blood-kith of my heart!
Who walks through walls
Of island white
And sinks into the sinless sands.
Crime is this without fail not,
Yet the fool may fell my pride,
Which falters like
The frightened fawn
And flees into the forests dark.
Cry for naught but lightless lies,
For all sans shadows swathed in truths!
Those roses that
With thorn-prick fain
Now puncture through my leafless veins.
Care cannot be learnt, in sooth,
Though the thread may mend my wounds
With serpent silk
From venom fang
And needle of the noxious flame.
Oh, curse the crippled wingless kin,
This blind-kith of my heart,
Who staggers like
The breaths in song
And remembers not thine art;
Oh, hither come, my birth-born bane—
Oh, bleeding dove of mine!
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