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Dec 2017
woe within walls,wrought with wrath wives wallow when wars win warriors while wambling with worn wombs.

The Graveyard, a playground for children,
They dance in the rain born from the eyes of weary widows with rifles in mangers hushing the anger .

Joy is distasteful but longed for.Despair the only warmth known, pain borne as the night coils in fear of dawn.
Battles are infants buried in red snow.
Torn limbs abandoned by victims and vultures
Jamie King
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