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Hope Flickers in the Reeds
Set sail in feathered ships
mis guided by shattered stars
and bent leaden sextants.
A little white rippled tempest
becomes a blackened water witch
hatched from a devil's chrysalis
sails are whipped and torn in half
sextant and mast fashion a crucifix
earth swallowed by the final horizon
souls churn upon Poseidon's spitz.
Slothful morning arrives
amidst the frothy angel tide
an armada of prayers ignite
unable to buoy any sign of life.
The last candle flickers in the reeds
hope throttles down-to recovery.
Copyright ©
Anthony Biaanco
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