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Challenge of the Month XXXIX
Write a short poem about your own private Hell. The tortured who reigns gets 100 big ones. Winner will be picked by Prose. Go.
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EugeneSpew

Hell, Who Cares

Skin Cells scattered,

dusted as useless pebbles on the highway

eroded as redundant sand by the river

They say you never see the same river twice

Once firm as fresh black top

and tall as mountains

with the strength to look forward,

with promise, with potential

Before the river,

Before the road,

every stone was once a boulder