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Rated: E · Poetry · Philosophy · #1445026
A poem about not being able to say the things that you want.
In this box alone and cold
Sleepless silence goes untold
Whispers and secrets die on lips
Outcasts, unloved, misfits
Even minions of hell can speak their mind
And angels in heaven will hear every line
Words can be heard even when books are sold
But not in this box alone and cold.
© Copyright 2008 Jubilee (ssjulian101 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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