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The Golden Crone: SOS

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My poetry has stalled. Prose alludes me.

I am stifled by love and sorrow.

My haunts are falling down.

Our towns are filled with shambling structures and pale people

Empty as paper bags.

My heart cannot stand by and allow our communities to succumb

To the pressing darkness.

I’m starting with myself. My heart is a lighthouse. I will offer a beacon to all who can see.

How will you save our ship?


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