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"Soldiers of the Day" by Sepulcrawl

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Where the time's woe
sits deep,
and it rises more
with the saints of the
November gales;
and the seats of
reprehensible nomenclatures,
where space treads,
rains down,
and you are again
without my whim;
to sail the torrents
of drowned maxims
and colloquial
instance.



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On Monday December 11th, 2006, CharlottesWeb (586) writes:
I guess the title set the mood...and the words ran with it...and this does sparkles like a white candle in a coal mine.


On Monday December 11th, 2006, Magic Hatter (2379) writes:
transitory life; this poem sparkles with identity lost and then fragile in its break....'drowned maxims/colloquial instance'...the veritable collusion of juxtapositions lost in 'November gales'...tantalisingly deep



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