“A man’s character is his fate”.
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For it is the poet’s duty to repeat an old truth in a new language.
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Starving for that which has never been tasted, tasting that which has never been craved.
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Falling over our-selves to eat the flesh of beasts, obsidian spear pierces to the depths beneath.
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Like deities falling from the lofty sky, resentments reserved for the falling stars a-high.
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Weeping for the widower’s life, through darkness eyes anticipate light.
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Through doubt the soul is torn for lack, of faith in truth with heart of black.
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