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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

there are two kinds of people: those who suffer and those who watch others suffer.

Submitted: February 08, 2018

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Submitted: February 08, 2018



On that steep cliff lies an ill fated edge,
A nonviable extremity that pushes those of indecisive minds to rise or fall,
Here I cling desperately, driven to decide my fate,
There is no grasping that narrowly treacherous brink,

Above is the white lands where the duplicitously loyal commit themselves,
Elephants speak gloriously to the sun,
Their fraudulent words recount utmost gratitude and charitable souls,
From there rises a locale of benefit and fallacious righteous fervor,

Beneath the setting sun a tragic repose falls,
A sullen darkness shadows those pitiable minds that reside,
Entrapping them in a perpetuating cursory of fleeting life,
Any hope is beaten away by unseen forces from above,

The cold beckons with its grotesque talons,
The sin simply malingers in its unruffled skies,
Horror screams with each painful moment,
The pretentious elephants turn away in defiance to the grisly sound,
Calls echo from below, ricocheting towards that hopeful light,
The cold, blind eyes of that heavenly body undergo no condolences,
Those wretched souls are left to eternally fall,
There is no redemption to be found in the sky.

© Copyright 2018 Megan Swantner. All rights reserved.

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