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So you bare no warmth or heat in presents of me brother

You prefer casting cold fish from the bottom depth of the glades

Fervor is not your friend but dismay toward the writers of today

You say to me and others leave on your clever way, art in poem you say? Ha

But in cabin lanterns light surrounding dark defines the writers light

Words are more than wrong or right they are birds of flight and prey

So gather you in featherless flight and away from burning moths shall stay

For burning wings is a hot winded flight that stroke the fires into day

Go then all alone into your cold amongst the chilling water glades

No more shall a writer’s poem keep you from your glacial shade

But if in chill you feel seeping into the darkest lit of deeper pray

Find a thrill that will warm your cockles within my evening poem


My heart fails without the heat of your friendship steeping into my veins

This loss of wayward friendship

I hope one day you find your way

And we shall drink of cognac with sugar sweetened rims

And next to the tree of life we will once again be friends fighting

Of those things that matter not in the clay of men