I couldn't recite it if I tried

My greatest work

By your standards or mine

For the nature of it's conception

Burned bright like embers

Hot as brimstone.

I wrote all I wrote

 to forget Times of temptation

And tribulations; too great to number

Days overcome by wonder

And pondering with production

Except for abstract bearings

But then again what was I to expect?

◄ Wasted

No Way of Knowing ►


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