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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A short poem about the death of freedom and all things good.
Tell me what you think it means personally. Tell me what parts hit you the most.

Submitted: March 30, 2016

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Submitted: March 30, 2016



Where have you gone? My black humming bird. Sweet freedom hangs, From a rope in the woods.

Gentle irony, Paved the road to the tree. Running in the wind, Disappeared with the sin.

The wings of the black bird, Gliding in the breeze, Led me on believing; Hope is all you need.

But where did you go? With your beak so thin, Sucking hope from the bow, For the drive you might win?

But now we're done, Freedom hangs from the tree. Light caught from the sun, Reflected back at me.

All the fog and the haze, The shit began to fall. I wasn't lost in the maze, I burned down the walls.

The times became tough, I thought the promises thick, The diamond edge rough, But in the end alone and sick.

The bones began to break, Slow, this dull pain. At every joint another ache. While the sheets became stained.

Where did he go? His beak so thin, Sucking from until hallow. For the drive he might win.

Sweet freedom hangs, From a rope on a tree. And loudly freedom bangs, To all the lonely.

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