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The Captives

by Prospero Pulma, Jr.

They, captives of the melody profane,
Gyrate their bodies of decaying gold,
And stomp their manacled silken feet
To music suffused with nether tones.

Caged by the vibrant wasteland, they trade
Sunlight for the bleakness of the pits;
Banished from the living wasteland,
They rapture into gaiety and
Dance deep into the spectral night.

Copyright © 2013 by Prospero Pulma, Jr.

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