The Beating Image

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A sickening of the soul,
Burning, rushing from the heart.
Words of anger take their toll,
With while without any start.


Eyes are closing all the time,
Inside, searching for a plan.
Fingers, opening, pantomime,
None within the mind of man.


Red ears find it hard to stand,
Hearing, feeling in the gloom.
Break by crest the troubles land,
Falling, missing, ending doom.


Footsteps thunder past and out,
Ringing through the silent room.
Nothing more is tossed about,
Sad thought left to fester, fume.


Tears create a lovely tone,
Dripping softly through the din.
Understanding comes alone,
Sympathy a greater sin.





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