Final Beat

And if they come again
then let them through.
Marauders on an open
shore, who rape the land
and raze the town
inside your mind. Raise the
the tide above your head
and let it wash
your soul: a cleansing
fire, crashing down like
the surf; a stolen breath
that weighs the lungs;
the thick muck through
which you wade brushes
against your heart
and strangles out the final beat
until –

they come again.

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