June 18, 2010
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Rests the turtle in his shell
Lost within his private Hell

Stories at least a thousand fold
Never to have been told

Quiet sits the terrapin
Wondering where all he has been

Ninja dance past memory
Disguised in blood drenched imagery

Longing the turtle still feels
To close old wounds and battling ills

Hard pressed is he to carry on
In a city which suffers from opinion

Who for all, lets a turtle in
When on his back there is a coffin's pin?

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Babie said...
Jul. 14, 2010 at 11:23 pm
Lease leave comment >_<
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