Shadow of the Broken

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Shadow of the Broken

I walk the rows

Pass the graves

See the faces of the broken,

In their hands a final token

For the one that will never be reawoken.

 

I walk the rows

Pass the grave

Think of all the memories,

Then pain just brings me to my knees

I’m the only one who sees.

 

I walk the rows

Pass the graves

Trying to hide the pain away,

But today’s a new day

I have nothing to say

Guess that’s just the price to pay.

 

I walk the rows

Pass the graves

Where has this life bought me?

Now I know, it’s plain to see

This is just how it has to be.

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Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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Blackwidow1668’s Poems (2)

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