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Posted: 23 Aug 2013, 23:10
by Woetrame

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.

A somewhat paradoxical poem about the forlorn act of trying.

Re: #Paragon

Posted: 29 Aug 2013, 02:33
by Billy
woe, I think this needs to be longer, more concrete, an extended metaphor, then I might feel what you're saying.