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A FIELD OF NOVEMBER I stand at the edge of the forgotten place The one no one knows to go to I stand at the edge of the remembrance The one no one knows to acknowledge This time I have come in a state of peace and love Last time I came as a raging lunatic full of hatred Hatred of the worst and most awful kind known And I still have not forgotten why I came here before It is this place, this awful forgotten place I stand at It is here where the love was once taken from me And where the hatred was injected into my veins I burned with an icy rage of dear November November the day of my tragic, horrid loss And now it is December and I have come to loss I have come to understand my loss and my love I have fought off the wrongs the hatred has done to me But still no one knows where I go, why I leave It is here that tragic day came and I must remember For if I forget I shall go to the November again A calendar page torn from my soul and sold to the devil I stand at the edge of the forgotten place The one no one knows to go to but me I stand at the edge of the remembrance The one no one knows to acknowledge but me -poet Darká |