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Mixed Blues

Clothe me in malice
as well as doubt
defend me against your
blue eye stare
your voice becomes paltry and didactic
like the Imagination of man
the joy of days passed before me
like the souls of old friends
in which a half breath
was hijacked by suicidal lusts
The passion of women
merciful enough to save humanity
aroused forgers to go further
for so many centuries
Without miraculous perfection
many faces suffered and died
glory is the universal instinct
each generation suffocating
on the smoke of their predecessors

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