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A Poet's Rifle (Free verse) by SupremeDreamer
Blood dribbles from the quill,
the feather dyed sepia.
A poet's tears dampen the paper
as he flaps his wings
and sings his soul into the snow
of the artic blizzard.
His voice lights the way
for his mind to fly free.
His verses warm the fingers
that continue to move despite stiffness,
to worship words.
He was found dead, wearing a t-shirt
"You can take my pen, after you pry it
from my cold dead fingers."