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Rated: E · Poetry · Community · #2085721
Sure, the taste of history's undoing is in the hands of self, but who is its savior?
Tell the tale
Form in an open hand, the gesture of experience
Creation for us to live, in the light to fail
Tooth and mark, and a heart with succor for a chance

Passion in the name, of a solace of virtue, some
Asked to live, in a many, sin and any
Care and fair, thieves and the dole of eaves, the portion of home
Your too young, to know the difference between history or fancy...?

Shame for you...
The excused cursing and the worsening house of sitting bold
If ever to exact, the notion of my honor to clean the way of minds, who
Have the sense to live up to a name, that has a lover for you, shown

Told you to likewise the stare of others, if corners have the callous need...
When to firsts, the song of lasts is for everyone who can know, myself
Actual life for the risks of intuition that could, taken to extremes of poise to heed
The making of doles for the resting eyes of a whole, paces of order in has and wealth

Yearning for more?
The time is with a stranger in the myth of somberness watched
Time to take, the reason of reality risen above the kind, to the future
How, your world is a letter of friendship before you, like ever and never said...
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