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Thursday, February 23, 2012

A Poets Last Thoughts

The city dies by old age, tomorrow.



You can never die to late.


It is said that a dove can heal,


all of our savagest of wounds.


Will you inject it into my veins,

If I falter or cry?


Knives, blades and hand grenades,


kill those on the street


Take this village of sin to the light,


what did we really achieve?


Your soul has been thick from the very start.


It can break me in two.


When you look for your image,


will you be on deaths bed?


When you look for the answers now,


to late came to soon.


What if I tore off these broken threads,


could you see any good left in me?


There is no fire left inside,


I just feel anxiety.


Shattered memories tear up my head.


Just forget what I once did.


Look through the sky with a telescope,


does everything else want to be dead?


Take this village of sin to the light,


what did we really achieve?


Your soul has been thick from the very start.


It can break me in two.


When you look for your image,


will you be on deaths bed?


When you look for the answers now,


to late came to soon.

And if I wish for tomorrow to come,


will my last words be known?


If I survive my monsters release,


will I still have a home?


I sit on my death bed now,


did I do anything right?


I did things I don't want my children to see,


what will they think of me?


If I should wait for this afterlife,


could I finally be clean?


Or should I wish for the darkness to come,


then what could I be?


Take this village of sin to the light,


what did we really achieve?


Your soul has been thick from the very start.


It can break me in two.


When you look for your image,


will you be on deaths bed?


When you look for the answers now,


to late came to soon.

If I could find a way to start again,


could I do anything right?

The city dies by old age, tomorrow.


You can never die to late.
































Remember me



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