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Rated: E · Poetry · Emotional · #1745437
Personal cry to t....
         Alone.... Nothing but the night sky for good comapny,

Almost like a dream -- the sense of life in every breath --

The stench of war would even make for good companionship at this point.

My soul grows more weary with every passing moment;

ecstasy -- just my Savior and I now.

Then why for doth such a blade rest upon my burdened heart?

Under what naive footnote is the answer to such a question?

Must I bleed -- bend or brake?

This underdog rests at Your door of Salvation.

Too much mind -- the one truth most face before their final fall --

To live and die by the sword --

A mere memory, the whistling of tampered metal gliding by --

Horrificly replayed as the memory of what just came to pass in seconds --

Seems almost like a lifetime to the one who just kept what life one has left to give.

Just to live with the scars, ghosts, and closets one would never hope to open again.

Not considering others not be so blessed --

Don't even get a simple sentence --

Good bye, my love....

See you in Heaven....

Such things taken for granted every day --

While we sit at the computer, or drink, or abuse drugs --

Just to cover up something because we're either too afraid to face it,

Or too untrusting to give it over to The One we trust with our Salvation.

Carpe Noctem my friends,

Because now it's our turn to bleed --

To burn -- indeed --

It's our turn to be the underdog --

Let's make it happen....
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