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Fort Forlorn

to walk through the gate, yet again in which direction


to approach the stream, the burning forest of reflection


to take a seat upon the ancient ground, the desert


to be enveloped in green, growing, rising, dying, to


freeze the winter's corpse in enlightenment beneath


a tree, inside a cave, the incense masks in definite ways


to accumulate the mass divided by the weight to then


levitate the world and find thyself hidden by procession


to lift thyself with thine own rope and never a second


more question leads to further disarray, more vanishing


than an island in the vessel, the book of the journey rests


page open upon the table spread, the ship in the bottle


of the old hand, the bottle itself contains the medicine


and stands again to walk through the gate, further into


introspection, seeks to turn thyself around and standing


at the gate on both sides the perspective, watching self's


slain self to selves further invitation to reach again the


gate, and know, that only thou canst return thyself to the


stream, and only in the reflection of the burning forest


is there a home, and its a desert, and its a sinking ship


and in the reflection beneath the surface of the stream


happiness was a truth I am willing to find again, love


is, life remains, and the white mask burns away, always




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