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Beauty Fraught

I was a soldier, but never sure of those things I was charged to do I was asked to fight pick up helmet and gun men dying around me I knew The places I’ve been and the things I’ve done all eclipse the known profane Now with beauty fraught I lock the gate —inside this prison I remain (Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018




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Date: 3/13/2018 1:49:00 PM
Reintegration has to be so very difficult. A very poignant poem, Kurt.
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Date: 3/13/2018 1:05:00 PM
The hyperbole here is impressive. While many may be in a literal prison, I feel sure you take consolation in your prison of the mind. Another welcome read as I tour your pages.
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Book: Shattered Sighs