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ends it twice

hope rests its tired old head upon the shoulders of destiny,
hanging onto but a faint breath.
its time is near, its death is so close,
releasing what was once so sure.
the dull hot breeze blows past the fire,
already dimming with time.
drifting again, killing the last small flame,
now lost in the brightness of the end.

Author notes


Written March 3rd, 2005

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