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  • The sun set on them
    They were the wrong
    Choices of the

    Tree under-standers
    Under the setting sun
    The golden purple mesh

    Above the grass
    They rested, on their
    Laurels, they had given

    Up on life, had given up
    On them, they called
    Themselves forward

    Thinkers, thinking
    Four words at any
    One time


    Mistakes sat next
    To mistake-makers
    Shadows to their shadows

    They trailed the tree
    Lingering always

    In the corners
    Of their eyes
    Like the winged

    Harbingers of
    Self-deceit, they
    Lied to the lies

    They carried as
    Their shadows’

    They spoke verse
    In their forward
    Thinking four verse

    They laid their fates
    In the maw of the
    Three fates

    Lest their four
    Thoughts, form
    Into uncomfortable

    Truth, afraid of the
    Firm fingered grip of
    Reality, they Ease

    Into pupil dilating
    Synaptic firestorms
    Where fleet feet

    Put space between
    Living self-lies
    Pacing ever surely

    For surely this
    Too must end.
    The sun will

    Set on the tree
    Golden purple

    To darkness
    They will sit, the lies
    As the shadows

    To their shadows
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