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 Tamara Beryl Latham - The Poet


The Branding Iron

Love, a fleeting memory in time,
a scattering of barren desert sand,
a poem, beyond reason, lacking rhyme,
she's fool's gold slipping through an idle hand.

She brandishes an iron whose lava flows
to rivers that by nature surely part,
alone, each one emits a fainter glow,
why has love stamped her cross upon my heart?

She masquerades as crucifix or crown,
disguises herself as the hand of fate,
she claims your heart when your defense is down,
then changes fast her name to that of hate.







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