Poetry For The Dead

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
This poem is saying a lot about the cycle of life.

Submitted: January 26, 2010

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Submitted: January 26, 2010

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Im empty.
Cold
Lonely...
Broken sad...
Breatheing
Slowly
In pain
I hold my head
And wonder
Why
Does life
Have to live on
Or
Why
Wont it just
Live without me
Or
My presence?
The people
Of
Earth will
Spin
Along with the wind
And dance
To spirits
Who lingers within
The ground is my home...
Where I'll soon belong
 
No better
Than this
I'll call my own...
We are
Souls embodied
In textures
Textures that
Makes us feel
Lonely
Alone
Loned
And gone.
We hardly
Can think
Inside
We're so twisted
Confused
And balistic.
We have
Tags on our
Backs
Labeling
Our slacks
No...Deeper than
That.
Life is a
Whirling wonder
Shared in
Cycles of
Others on
The Devil's Playground.
 
And we play
On it
Mindlessly
Uncapable of
Our tricks
Of ourselves...
What if we are
Dead but tried
Living to live
The life given to us?
We are being counted
Written
Down
Stamped
Checked
...watched
By eyes
On fire
And eyes
On rays
Where
Will we be after
Our free time is over
After our lives have
Come to an end
Where
Are we now
From here to then?
Life's so empty
Living to live
Without us
It feels broken and cold
Like me
It wonders
Slowly breatheing
Sadly...


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