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In the dead of night
 
I’m an oak with rings ingrain
My heart is a woodcut carving
My soul a gnarled wooden cane
“No longer prevents my falling.

I’m a mountain-pine-forest
A field of flattened wheat:
A no-man’s-land, a gauntlet
Thrown, down in beseech”.

Of war of madness or friendship
Take your pick; I am ready, for all.
I have sharpened and whetted,
Sheaved my blade; heeding its call.

I have vanquished my enemies
One and all… to see them lonesome fall
I have rewritten they’re own parodies.
In my turn stood, equally tall.

I have ignited into blossom,
And unfurled to catch sight
Every flower my breath can bosom
Hold to itself in the dead of night.


The JUST FOR THE LOVE OF IT Challenge

By Mark Heathcote

© 2018 Mark Heathcote (All rights reserved)

 

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This Poem is part of a Challenge: - The JUST FOR THE LOVE OF IT Challenge-read page for rules and info (challenge has been closed)


This Poem is part of a Challenge: - The JUST FOR THE LOVE OF IT Challenge-read page for rules and info (challenge has been closed)


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