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#Paragon

A Beacon finds itself, surrounded by turgid green slime;

it's base as hateful as any, where one is to be found.

I find myself become, said Beacon listing uneven;

painful and torpid, thereby an equal.


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A somewhat paradoxical poem about the forlorn act of trying.

woe, I think this needs to be longer, more concrete, an extended metaphor, then I might feel what you're saying.