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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: October 15, 2016

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Submitted: October 15, 2016



He sold his masterpiece 
For dozen dimes
To men who dine in coffin dens,
Minting golden words
To suffice for what is missing.

And was it worth it?
In the lair where hives swell,
Where important talk is lied about,
Was the truth a costly phrase?
And can anyone afford to hear it?

The sinners own the gun,
And the shadows guard the tower,
Where unlikely forces break bread,
Where the alliances are forged,
And where the secrets are woven.

© Copyright 2018 Christopher Harold. All rights reserved.

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