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wordvango
Poems
Sep 2017
a bit of sense
of do a lord hath laid an egg
and deeds have gathered up in tombs
seeking rewards and justifications
only leaves the lord listening
to
gnawing teeth of bugs of
blowfly
drawn by rotting flesh
and gases to pupal teeth
young maggot feasting on
a darkening wood moving
thresh;
hereΒ
remains his last words
left without
a bit of sense
Written by
wordvango
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Brianna Love -aka Stormy Angel
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Frank L N
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