Crucible

by Timothy Bledsoe   Feb 8, 2006


Slow suffocation with the deepest breaths,
Searing pain in the empty euphoria,
Drowning quietly in the roaring Flame.

Death calls quietly in the rush of the Wind.

From dust and ashes Life is wrought,
Out of desolation rebirth grows strong,
Through the Crucible is Man made whole.

Life rides grandly on the back of the Fire

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