Paused glory

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The weak construct of flesh, this abstract defiance,

reliance on the skin of want, of evergreen,

bold for a moment, then humbled,

the impalpable heart lay upon crossed swords.

Words of comfort and distilled pity mean less

than the soft-boned mortality; the only strength

is what it gives, why it lives in paused glory.

8 thoughts on “Paused glory

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