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Rated: E · Poetry · Contest · #1411856
An angel mourns the faults of men
How is it that I am not yet born
When the pieces of my life
Are shredded and torn?

How is it that they can abandon pursuit
Of all things evil, and then
Manipulate the truth?

How is that you can dictate
Ancient wisdom to races
That are swallowed by hate?

How is it that we stand hand in hand
When I am an angel, and you?
You are a man.

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