On the Wings of a Shadowed Dove
I cut through mountains made of paper,
lined and unlined.
Neither can hold
my rage. I am rock,
resistant to wind. I
hold blue
flame, symbol of persistence, continuance,
beacon of the broken.
I gather
the pieces that remain around me
like a fort. They
agree to become
kindling for the cause.
I reduce them
to ash, spread them as spackle to fill cracks
in the vision I hold of tomorrow.
(http://thecamelsaloon.blogspot.com/)
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