jeweled tombs of once visionary eyes

that had lost fiery lightning and the moon,

withdrawn no supernatural

accomplishment,

as symbols of obscure hours

watched with a disdain for light

becoming soiled by the soul

with august sorrows,

mankind knew of many merciless rulers

who used terror as supreme power,

rebellion awakened from stubborn sleep,

imagination of those

seeing a future others had not

next morning would have many suggestions,

vanity would not nurse emotion

bullets would not be kissed by lips

that spoke of treacherous dreams,

music of voices spread over cities

and blue skied landscapes,

plans conceived with  tears

and women taking widows veil,

television messages and distortion

vulgar external eyes

hands folded on lap

pretend subtle debate and interest

whilst buildings burn

assured rocks thrown

defiance not disguised,

all interior tragedies have those warriors

the fallen and fables,

but all endings are not the same

for that you have to wait

for winters grasp

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