Lincoln balances on blue flames His eyes, mist Before him, gold rings glitter Below his boots In his hand, lies his sword, Silvery and unspoiled He stares out into the expanse Of boiling sea Yet, far, far underneath him is a baby Hidden beneath rough, unloved brown soil The child sings balefully to the morning Warning of Lincoln's unbelievable strength But no one is there to hear this alarm Because Lincoln, with his silver sword, Balances on blue flames And has become lost in his own fragile glory Thank you for reading! If you like my poem, please don't be afraid to give it a share. Comments are always welcome and I love hearing your thoughts. Question: What does the baby in this poem represent to you?
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AuthorI'm Darcy Ridge, creating stories that all revolve around family and identity in a myriad of ways. In the past, I have shared multiple stories and published a novella online. You can find me on Wattpad and many other social media websites. They/them [Image Description: black background with the words "Social Justice and Mental Health Resources" in white in the center /end ID]
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