| Open Poetry #48 |
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O, Father |
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niteismyday Junior Member
since 2012-06-19
Posts 35 |
The hand of a ghost resting on my neck Pushing me to the ground Deeper, deeper O, father, dare I make a sound? In dark mist I fight my demons blind With a shovel made of gold Fool me, fool me O, brother, rip out my heedless soul |
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