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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Death · #1623370
One lost and dying soul, and one burning hatred.
Wounded Spirit

My skin becomes pale
Pale as the winter's moon
Lifting the veil
My time comes too soon

Lying in the wilderness
Amidst the bleakest gale
I realize in bitterness
I was destined to fail

My life's blood seeps slowly
From stinging, burning wounds
Staining my crippled body
Doubtless, soaking through

Drawing my final breath
My eyes glaze in new light
I feel the warmth of death
Grant rest from this eternal fight

But sorrow drowns my soul
And hate boils in my heart
It forces me to let go
Of my desire to depart

What love did I receive?
What mercy did I find?
The world could only deceive
Thrusting regret upon my mind

It is here I decide
My soul will remain
A soul which can't confide
A secret that's been slain

I vow to haunt the stealers
Of so many innocent lives
I swear to make them suffer
For every wretched lie

They will see my wounded spirit
They'll fall to their knees and cry
"I'll change who I am! I swear it!"
With pleasure I'll reply

"You had your chance at life
You wasted it, barren and dry
You bring nothing but strife
Now it's your turn to die."



November 7, 2009
© Copyright 2009 Elisabeth (blackstar at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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