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Rated: · Poetry · Death · #1085002
a poem of self-murder
A man walks down the road
a wanderer with no goal
on his heart a heavy load
That will soon take a toll

As he walks in solitude
his eyes drift from reality
a place without grattitude
the darker side of fantasy

Life lost to him it's purpose
He had nothing left to lose
He was giving into us
He was going to forever snooze

In the darkness he was lost
bumping into all fear and hate
his soul colder than winter's frost
In his heart lay a closed gate

He came upon a bridge
looked at the water below
and quietly walked to the edge
into the water he would go

One last look at life
his knees then bent
"I'm coming dear wife"
then down he went.

never coming up.
© Copyright 2006 Johnny Cash (billyboy14 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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