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The Bastion (poetry)

Updated on February 2, 2013

Staring down from a bastion towering high
above frozen fields and warm cottages.
People like insects, running here and there.
So far away. But not too far.

Chilled air whipped past him from all directions.
His scarf changing direction as if possessed.
Clouds piled together like a group of gossiping women.
So far away. But not too far.

He stood alone, thinking about all things
and no things all the same. He dreamed
of lands real and unreal. His mind was
So far away. But not too far.

He found himself staring down at his own hands
wondering how long until the frost would take him.
How long until he must go back to them below. They were
Simply not far enough away.

He peered over the bulwark again,
the endless white confusion of winter.
A slight grimace lined the man's face. Spring was
Simple not close enough.

How many years had he played this game?
He had a good number left to live.
Yes, many more years to live. Yet his life was
So far away. So damned far away.

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