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Rated: E · Poetry · Other · #1829096
Not quite sure what this ones about.
Death oh death
Such a sweet thing it would be to breathe my last breath

I'll live to see times bitter end
And then still will my wicked bones again them-selves mend

This cursed life is not blessed
Oh to taste youth's fountain and lie in heavens rest

How I wish I could see the simple little time that passes
And hold still to each second fast

Time
Left alone with my rhyme

My love
Made of

Ink
And pen-blood's stink

Built from lead and graphite
Laid on a paper bed and feeling so feather light

My dear
They fear

What you could be
When at last your true meaning all eyes shall see
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