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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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