and left to rot as intended
by those whose wealth must crest and fall
with sound critiques and sly rhythm.
Will tension tip the hands of few
to ebb away a life of work
and bleed their dreams on tattered page
to sign their fate in crimson ink.
As confidence has sweeped them clean
and sustenance maintained unphased
will turncoat forces don the mast
and slowly stir our seeping pores.
In pools of kindergarten feasts
and kinder greens still left at bay
would conscience still allow our lips
to utter once again our game.
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