I am the keeper of the place, meant to dust around...to tend the helm, as others sleep, that great sleep. The single light, left burning on the bridge...is god's. To wake them up, one task, alone...was given me, if all goes wrong. To burn this log of poetry.
Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico
Art: Wizards Hand, whitebox house rules part 4
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