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POEM: THE POET CLOAK

The Poets Cloak : for young poets 

Disbanded mercy
scattered to the rag time bars
to grow old alone
no tribe of forgiveness to follow behind
having lost its way in the money rooms
who would you serve
the fire to consume the desire for revenge
bending the ending until broken
ask for something less than nothing
then the answer will be never
forget you

come young poets
grow past the door of any thing you know
find the hollow hours secret songs
listen to the glass strings of the snapping harp
played by bloody fingers
late in the night
of oblivians mother
think twice
before requesting the poets cloak

                         By David Wetzel

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