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The Furnace

The Furnace

Tha'ts ok;

allow yourself

to be desperate.

Even if you are writing this poem

with one hand,

half a mind,

and a bruised soul.

It changes nothing.

Even a great warrior

has to sit back

and rest,

and lick their wounds,

and sit by the sacred fire.

And allow his life

to burn away,

till nothing is left but white ash.

And phoenix is up for another circle


the SUN.

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