Poems From Poets

Poems of every kind.

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18. Quite cold about the towers

All murky in the trees
I grasp tiny fears beneath the mist
Alack! The vision was hard
All black over the ground
I destroy bright symbols within the fire
I reach! The feeling is dying
Quite cold about the towers
You find black tomb stones beyond the shadows
Atone! The evil will come
wavering silent 
lost in broad daylight 
a broken promise 
For whose sake 
my likeness 
come singing 
talking to himself

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