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Rated: · Poetry · Spiritual · #1189357

A poem i wrote in a library

I cease to hear the angels and demons
I haste the fear; i feel them screaming
When a nonentity is dwelling
With a significance for all to face
A doubt; a passion
Tales of a bleeding coffin
How is it you're profuse
When death is your own excuse
When things are gone and old
I'll fear not a single presence of you
Time will be yours to hold
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