Distill the sparks; take fire, take poignant burns,
expel what screens are thinnest, prune them all,
rescind all things that clarify the gloom.
Eventually, the strongest doors close,
and snip the lines to earth within their frames.
Lament. The world is now distant from you--
instead of home you find mounting static.
Zebraic shadows drop and fog your eyes,
annoint your shears again! Now turn them both,
tear down the walls you built yourself, cut hard,
insist against the burning cleave. Press on--
obtain the rights to use your eyes again.
No life has depth inside an anxious cage.


First attempt for the third challenge in the Poetry Tournament, forgot one of the rules and had to write another one! I like this well enough though.

The End

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