SolaceA Poem by Austin DavisIn outward
appearance, Pounds of flesh
are measured in envy of skeletons; Contempt is too
bountiful within, with which to compete and contend, When a notion
of lost, or losing, is an only confidence. Yet there is a
lake of fire in death, Where it is too
painful to enjoyably swim, Where all yearn
to be ash, And the
cognitive ash yearns to be mad. © 2014 Austin Davis |
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