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What a weak shell
this form, these hands
who could not grasp lightening
what hope could mortals strive
to catch thunder in a bottle
in this flesh, these mere bones?
But nearer to divine in the striving
As all fire reaches to the sky
in burning hope to become a storm.
What wonders may elijah-like rise from this inferno
Or rapturous fury emerge dauntless, borne?
I live, I die.. I am reborn.