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Winter of reason


(BY: CLEM M. BASCAR) One doesn’t have to be
awake to discern the gradual retreat
of the tide; even the feeblest serenade
of the breeze is felt in the deepest
niche of the spirit
Much more intense the pain
comes to the mind by hope deserted; much
more the grief of the heart by love
long orphaned
Most of the wars I wage are those
of conscience; much of the glories i reap
spring from my wildrest dreams; still I trudge
along pretending to be invincible
not minding the constant erosion of reason
in the graveyard of my sanity

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