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Aug 2019
The walls will whisper
of what they witnessed
during the darkest night
of the man murdered

The roof holds dear
the soft hushing
of the young mother
soothing her babe

The graves soak up
all our fragile tears
that hit the ground
in the grieving sorrow

The grass will tremble
in anticipation now
at the bouncing step
of a new adventure
Inanimate objects have no thought of their own but perhaps the hold the dearest intentions of what we left behind.
will
Written by
will  22/America
(22/America)   
91
 
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