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J.M. Florio: Writer

Poems

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Waves of Woe

Lapping waves three-thousand miles wide
Ebb and break with a cry unto my heart
The copper girl, ideals I once plied
has left me here, still searching for my part.

With head held high and heart pierced through
I tremble,and tread my own dark backstreets.
Revealing closed doors, through alleyways blue
I pry open all past prior retreats.

The undercurrent of time pulls me down,
the direction of these temporal sands;
I stamp on nationhood, the epoch's clown
whose lachrymose smile has stained every plan.

As tears well behind this smiling facade
I kick paydirt on this century's god.

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