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An old poem or mine, c.1977, about the meaning(less) of life.


Submitted:Jan 20, 2011    Reads: 29    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


To die within,
Yet still remain alive,
Is a fate worse than death.

To die without
Ever knowing true love,
Is never living at all.

To die in poverty
Is nobody's dreams,
Yet so many do.

To die alone
Is crime enough, and yet
Living alone is worse.

To live a lie
Is so unfulfilling,
Truth is the answer.

To die within
Seems to be your fate now,
All hope is gone.


THE END
© Copyright 2011
Philip Roberts





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