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by Raven Jackson |
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It was never a given But sometimes in the approaching gift of a storm He could catch lightening with his bare hands The lore of Zeus rippling in a neon glow through his fingers A bolt of purity he would clench blue fire to let the electric hum raise the hairs on his spine the whine of power arousing Only to release it again in a rush across open ground to blast the earth with raw potency Or perhaps he would open his mouth and take it in To burn out the sins of man To fire the lust in his belly To slay the cancers hidden within It was never a given But sometimes in the dark kiss of an approaching storm He would cry with anticipation |
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