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Archive for April, 2011

Fingers press’d deep to the moments track;

creas’d in doubt, the well worn page held close

to the squinting eye, senses wrack’d.

Darkness at the strings demise hosts

your fear Olo; three yards, or two twitched

to signal here to howling gnolls’ den?

Halted, silent, the warriors breath now hitched

to th’ yarns breadth: two indeed, then

what?  Lead saws parchment, wall carvings

flick ensorceled light to startled eye,

the thief  cannot rub away the gnawing

doubt some turn or grade has gone awry

along the page.  Slow this track to fine treasure

by desperate, silent means and bloody measures.

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