Anthracite

Of course wind blows, forcing fabric to fly around

Slapping away thoughts and daemons to the ground

A conversant stare to a thunderous and wet storm

Centuries old is the Seer, remembering being born

Is this the life that the many shall seek

Brains malformed and bodies too weak

The egos of men shall be wracked with this curse

Ironic acknowledgement his arrogance is worse

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