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SCRABBLE
And we scrabble at the walls with bloody claws and determination;
Our nails, fingers, and then hands wearing to stubs.
And are we further from the goad prodding at our advance?
The motivation is an illusion.
But we will aver the illusion.

Scoring the walls with bloody claws and determination,
Long after our nails, fingers, and once hands wore to stubs,
With calloused arms, then teeth.
And it yields;
We explode through the chasm--vanquished, bloodstained, inured to pain.
The motivation was an illusion.
And our rupture in the wall, a hollow, ebbing upon entry, a foist.

And we scrabble at the walls with bloody claws;
Our nails, fingers, and once hands wore to stubs,
With calloused arms, then teeth,
And now quelled determination.
And are we further from the goad that prodded our advance?

- Rian, 19
Submitted 5 Oct 2003

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