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Zealot
#1
Was feeling silly:

Give in. Let go.
Relinquish full control
to the devil.
A grown hateful soul,
mired in the sulphur snow,
won't overcome the winter with it's mettle.
Nor will it cleave the hood of dreams
from the eyes of jealousy.
A waste of nature's symmetry.

Stretched thin like skins on war drums
and exempted from apology,
you pruned the wicks on bombs
to haste the pace of your own reckoning.
Chopped down the fossilized trees
who limbs raised false gods
to their ranking.
Yours for the taking.

To build the gallows
from their fallen timber;
on the hills of hell
to welcome those
who have no savior.

Dogs of men, of things, of nothing.
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#2
Well done! Impressive poetic writing Xyxthumbs
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#3
Very impressive .
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#4
I love the flow of it! It moves so fluidly.
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