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elizabeth Mar 2017
No thing grows,
No bird flies.
Flowers- they shrivel;
Die in my mind.

Dark as night,
Quiet like fear.
Terrible as monsters;
All pain resides here.

Warmth isn't found,
Light is scarce.
Silence stabs ears
Like a dagger's pierce.

The toxic air,
The deadly sand.
You haven't guessed?
**I am the wasteland.
March 25, 2017.
Rhyme scheme: second and last line end rhyme. Stanza one and three: near-rhyme. Stanza two and four: rhyme.

— The End —