Lamentation, for the Lost

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A quiet beat follows the flow of life
and so it flows, in love and strife
quickening at the heart's immensement
as feelings rush so intense, it
is yet so yielding as the heart relents it
to the comfort of a calm, quiet loam.

Insects crawl in countless teems
and so a mind's thoughts wistful gleams,
death of the living is but a part of meaning
but the love of the lost is one demeaning,
yet love the lost I shall, and so lament
for my heart has yet to yield to seductive dirt,
far leagues away is the path of repent
the lost one's mind has been gone, and spent
so holds it's grave my flesh and spit.

Eyeing the eye for want of vengeance
for do behold, I am subject to penance
and while some may say this is as death a sentence
I cherish my silence with honest innocence-
this is the way of the way of the lost,
to be found once more until life be tossed,
thereafter to see what must be the way of heaven,
or hell, it's silly to ponder each detail
but know this;
Joy, and grass, both be found in my resting eternal bliss.





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