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(SMOKE SIGNALS BECKON) WAYWARD DRIFTER
No
shortage
of doubters;
the naysayers
come out of woodworks
like termites they infest
slowly gnaw away the pulp
fissures on soul intensified
random betrayal of close allies
sinks us deeper into rot and decay
yet still seraphim tweet this melody
smoke signals beckon wayward drifter
spirits rising undiminished
and from ashes and despair
a new hope arises
faith in pure vision
we mend bridges
to achieve
blissful
ends
