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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Poetry: Nuclear

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One summer night I split her like an atom,

Releasing waves of energy that could nourish

And sustain populations for half-lives

Of fifty thousand years:

She loves to fuck; I accept no reward

For discovering fission; my role is the thumb

In the leather glove releasing the payload,

A simple reflex in a maze of events.

Before her terrifying manifestation there were years

Of development where she spun like a model proton

In dead stability, between pressures of diseased morals

And immoral disease.

But now she is safe,

Free of judgment and sentence,

Exploding in fury

With incalculable joy.

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