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An Atoll's Obituary: The Demise of a Follower

Updated on May 25, 2012
An Atoll
An Atoll
Storm
Storm
Typhoons in armour
Typhoons in armour

(Might is supreme. In nature itself, the superior gorges the weak. Power is appreciated, even venerated. An undulation in the habitual pattern, even as a minor natural calamity, hardly deters the hope of the admirer to one day fuse with the mighty destroyer, thus sharing strength so long unknown.)



The Pacific, passive, in plaintive pose,

Pavonian pallor plush and pure,

Pamper pliant pals too close.

Your yawning yearn to nurse and cure

Bays in plight, shores in pain,

Guardian hype or virtuous vain?

I ponder this dusk, dream in dread

Squander will you, the rest to peril led!


You mock in pain, on sandy castles slain,

Scoffing straits, your mates in play,

Empty your vault, azure gold amassed,

To hungry bowels, in compliance they lay.

Typhoons in armour demand a share

You, though, low in grade unleash

Sated claims of self-praise, routing rowdies fair

A lesson in might you then teach.


My melancholy tarnished, bronze tiara tampered

Brackish bubbles funneled my heart

Your passion province no longer apart

Cascade my soul in bluish bloom

Blatant bravado shall I moon

Though sunk in you I may stay,

Diadem demolished, just tearful cocoon

Saved me you have, on my last day.

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