Striken' Tickin' Bitten

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A poem written Freestyle

Submitted: February 05, 2013

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Submitted: February 05, 2013

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It is clouded

Sitting they're glaring

The light crowed

Dying and easing

Out of existence

Leaving me to clearance

These thoughts of one thing

If I ever get to be aging

My sister sleeps empty stomach

My Father sleeps foreign barrack

My mother reads Isaac

I think about tomorrows Potluck

Of UN Donations

Yet a war of undrawn Nations

Consume for the effort

Each supporting their own braggart

What need do I have

To cut this meal in halve

Which Halve for me to have

When it is my stomach I wish to halve

Constant grumbling mumbling

Tumbling further to depression

And a wish, cession my country’s culling

The impure to preserve this session

Tongue runs over a sore

One of many; No meat just bones

A casualty of unsought inner war

Another casualty claimed before Hormones


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