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Oct 2013
Crawling through the mud
with calloused hands groping
for anything to push forward.
Tearing over rough bark,
exposed skin is left torn,
and hot red gold spills,
staining the crystal pools
that collected from the falling

Stars in the eyes
reflecting stars above,
and catching salty tears
that invade the homes of ants below.
Frozen breath is pushed out,
forming small clouds of words
left unsaid,

Fingers feel for the pulse of the earth,
no longer hoping for survival,
but just to be reunited with nature.
The wind sings a deathly lullaby
and soon only an empty shell
is left where a soul once lived.
Written by
   Anonymous, R Saba, Basko, r, Taylor and 1 other
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