Hanging from the church's roof truss, Life seeping away through the rope, Storming clouds and thunder making a fuss, The body twitching, trying to escape, From the abduction and slavery of the rogue master, And in that darkness, a paper slips, landing on the cross, Written in tears' ink, on a broken heart, With scars of the bitter past, That remained resistant even after being drowned in alcohol, I hope with my life and the cross, To wash away my silent suffering memories and moments, That cannot make words speak
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