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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
just something about death and making are own way through what we might find in that darkness. what comes next and if we might take our own path through that beyond

Submitted: July 13, 2008

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Submitted: July 13, 2008



if we were to dangle loosley

our legs just ore the lip of time

would the toll be taken far to costly

for a taste of fires so sublime

if we were to edge these rusting crates

ever closer to that rail

push them out to God's own sea

across his waters sail

would the price to pay for insolence

exceed these forms corporeal

would there flesh be needs to recompense

if for a taste that we might steal

perhaps when all our eyes grow dim

a serpents clouded white

perhaps when we might then shed this skin

cast off this shroud of night

then perhaps with orbs of blue

as green as summer leaves

we might navigate these waters true

not bumbling blinded thieves

to distant shores of bleached white sand

of ever open eyes

to meet and grasp my makers hand

to burn my cloak of lies

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