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Dry, breathless rage Clamors upward In heated strain Through these veins-- Red-winged thoughts Simmer on my temples And throw themselves In violent circles Within my soul... And then the ruby edges Soften into pink As anger fades-- A cooling catacomb remains Housing whispers Of wishfully forgotten memory Within it's crevices-- Until the hauntings Of the past --Rage-- Once more. � Copyright Krista Knutson 2001 Email the Author |