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one who stands on a hill:
thoughts fly around the moon,
looses track of will
pondering the dark.
white, gray, black:
the blinding glaze,
intent shifts fore and back,
but to the future, is always excitement.
the one looks into the night:
fists clench drawing blood,
pain felt is slight,
anticipating the coming blast.
a great white misery:
pushed passed the point,
the last thing done without mastery.
excitement melds into resolve and back.
the one yells over the small:
feeling the power;
and watching them crawl,
pondering the dark.
and a gray day:
the one kneels in pain;
a smile, instead of what's to say.
and the white feels excitement in the night.
-david rbV '2
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