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The Centre Cannot Hold

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Were we to rest

upon the pale gray crucibles of your

dancing with delight on expired destiny

shattered yellow bones

atop their hallowed homes

the decadence of youth

spitting wisdom like pits

And were we to lay and rest

hard boiled and crucified

upon the same precipice of failure

tragedy and cynicism will endure

and the centre will not hold

The End
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smac972 You're currently reading the poem The Centre Cannot Hold, which was posted on Jun 27, 2008 by smac972.

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