New Poetry Wednesday: Vigor

Vigor

Raised to the rise
But it means naught
In the grand scheme
Beside me with paper sheets
Circling in vigor loved
Coming from inside
Rising suns falling behind
Raised to the rise
But it means naught
In the grand scheme
Raided to be beside
Their own destinies
As if the Pale Rider stalks
With every line
Circling in vigor loved
Coming from inside
Rising wishes shattering down
Raised to the rise

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