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Tuesday, October 17, 2006


poem i wrote.
I feel so alone,

Nothing can help me,

No medcine doctors can give,

The love mothers have.

Nothing.



It's useless to struggle,

No faint whisper of hope,

There is only darkness,

The Light of Hearts, snuffed.

Useless.



We'll never win,

We were born to die.



We long for the Light,

But what you want,

And what you deserve,

Are two different things.



Many are destroyed by the Dark,

Sent away;

But some long for the Dark,

Perparing for the Ultimate Sacrifice,

They will be immortal;

Like the gods themselves,

Death.



We can't forget the stories.

Death, "The Hooded Figure",

Sythe of pure silver,

Visiting old and young,

That is his way,

And we must obey...

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