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Celsius 110
I gaze silently out this
Hallow window,
Tasting perfume of these paper lights and
Paper people.
Filled with a vastness of rain that whistles and wishes
Disposing of artificial thoughts
Which tremble beneath my touch.
The wind embraces me.
The earth kisses my exuberant toes.
The sun bows to my light;
My heat
How quaint it is to only desire the will to desire
And never set forth on dreams
You-- who are meant to protect.
You-- who are meant to uphold.
You-- who are brave and free
Permit for these Eagles' wings to be severed and fall where they may.
Are we not prisoners ensared in this unholy and unethically scorched land?
Can you not hear the pleading wail of unborn sons weep
And ask, with such melancholy,
"What are we to do?"
And your nonchalant shrug shatters the day
As if to open the pits of Hell
And let the world
Burn.
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