Write this. We have burned all their villages
Write this. We have burned all the villages and the people in them
Write this. We have adopted their customs and their manner of dress
Write this. A word may be shaped like a bed, a basket of tears or an X
In the notebook it says, It is the time of mutations, laughter at jokes,
secrets beyond the boundaries of speech
......
Am
I know not whence I came,
I know not whither I go;
But the fact stands clear that I am here
In this world of pleasure and woe.
And out of the mist and the murk
Another truth shines plain –
It is my power each day and hour
To add to its joy or its pain.
......
Too proud to die; broken and blind he died
The darkest way, and did not turn away,
A cold kind man brave in his narrow pride
On that darkest day, Oh, forever may
He lie lightly, at last, on the last, crossed
Hill, under the grass, in love, and there grow
Young among the long flocks, and never lie lost
Or still all the numberless days of his death, though
......
I never knew someone could lie quite like this
Fake the warmth, the passion, the smile, the words
Words you have now rendered meaningless for all those to whom you opened that big phony mouth.
Yes this year has been rough. But so has every other year. The only difference: the people I always expected to be there were nowhere to be found. The only difference is I didn’t have those familiar shoulders to cry on. I thought you were forever. I guess I would have known better. I always should’ve known better.
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When the stars spark all night
And the moon lights up the sky,
Life starts when darkness falls,
And they come alive until the next sunrise.
Not knowing where to go,
They suppress their dreams and move with the flow,
Waiting for the next call of life.
As the night grows deeper and deeper,
......
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