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The Sands Of Fire
My cold, grave fingers hold
The precious, whose value untold.
Wishing I had a feeble better;
Oh, Dreams, do you read my letters?
When Illusion becomes the false monarch,
Life looks unneedingly calm; so stark.
Then, diamond towers all shatter down,
Painting my aggrieved arteries brown.
Fears from nowhere walk into me,
Knocking the doors of heart, fervently.
“Had I giant sword to slay thee;
With it, a grain of courage, my enemy.”
Thoughts sail down with silky grace
In the oceans of my tears, as I gaze
At the stars in my dark daylight;
This is my own battle; my fight.
The wicked world points out at you;
Never care, no more shall it do.
Walk your own, firm steps with light;
With the hope and might, do the act right.
And, my cold, grave fingers hold
The precious, whose value untold.
Now, my bloodless veins fail and tire;
Still, I hold, the sands of fire.
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