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I see my hand spread broad across the table top
empty upon the flat of my palm
with nothing to grip but the energy of my conviction
without a source to comfort the calm
and the swallowed voices of the years ahead
a golden lashing across the table
slashes my hand in a band of shadows
breaks my mind as my urges are fed
golden shades turning amber 
turning gold and dark again
the bending dusk imparts the room
branded, awaiting my moments of pain
no thoughts are left, no more to hold
swollen from the passing day
bearing each moment to come, each time foretold
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