Massive… Maybe,
In the way of sieves.
Straining, strained, stained
By the presence of pulp…
Fiction fixated.
Are heroes so cheap
When super-sized?
Inflated… Perhaps.
Weighted, but not by air.
It’s hard to breathe
In the presence of greatness.
C. Green
another quiet muse 
just different….
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I don’t even know where I was going with that poem lol. It was a stream of consciousness, nearly. Thanks for reading!
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still fine….regards…
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