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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
This poem is about the horrible and bleak future, our previous generation have left us.

Submitted: July 23, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 23, 2012



The horizon seems so bleak  Shrouded in an Ambiguous mystique Only one truth still holds There's no future to mould

7 billion strong and recruiting everyday Pawns in a game which rich men frivolously play Sending knights to fight for scraps For whom?  not us  not me  not you

So many others have lost all hope  Dreams of knives of blades and rope But don't worry my son The final act is starting soon  Look to the bleak horizon one last time  A drop A crash  A bang  A boom

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