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The shadow of death Hangs Over every head Even water Left alone Will disappear Life is struggle Survival Unguaranteed The spirit Defines All All Words sometimes flow Like currents In a stream At other times They resist They resist And I crumble Under the weight Of my pen Life is struggle Yet I In my ignorance Do not know Where this road Will end So I advance Just a little further With faith My lone companion Though all seems unchanging Perhaps mysterious fortune, awaits Perhaps I seek courage To lead a strange And magnificent existence To work to alleviate A poverty of the soul To enrich the intangible With decorous trinkets Of creative gold I take it in To let it go Except that which I hold dear Though pallid sickness arises From the pit of my stomach And time in this dimension Only fades The memory of this experience Though fleeting Reminds me Life is truly mystic To live long One has to make something Out of nothing To create Where there was nought This page, this very page Once empty Now besmattered with thoughts Weaves its own thread Of inner life And so Another day Is complete And new life Begins
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Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 1:36 PM UTC
Shadow of Death
The shadow of death Hangs Over every head Even water Left alone Will disappear Life is struggle Survival Unguaranteed The spirit Defines All All Words sometimes flow Like currents In a stream At other times They resist They resist And I crumble Under the weight Of my pen Life is struggle Yet I In my ignorance Do not know Where this road Will end So I advance Just a little further With faith My lone companion Though all seems unchanging Perhaps mysterious fortune, awaits Perhaps I seek courage To lead a strange And magnificent existence To work to alleviate A poverty of the soul To enrich the intangible With decorous trinkets Of creative gold I take it in To let it go Except that which I hold dear Though pallid sickness arises From the pit of my stomach And time in this dimension Only fades The memory of this experience Though fleeting Reminds me Life is truly mystic To live long One has to make something Out of nothing To create Where there was nought This page, this very page Once empty Now besmattered with thoughts Weaves its own thread Of inner life And so Another day Is complete And new life Begins
1st February 2016
commuter-poet
Written by
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 1:36 PM UTC
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