Poetry: Glorious

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Returning heroes honored in ribbons,

The rich worshipped, their names whispered in awe

By envious lips; the champions face

The adoration of the crowds, who use

Victory in play as a substitute

For a deficit of hope and trophies.

But there is no power as glorious

As a woman who owns body and soul

Striding proud and naked into a room,

Ignoring flaws, alive with confidence that no one

That no one subdue the pure desire

Craving realization. If you hear

The ethereal voice, the eerie cry

Of oblivion, you have found glory.

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