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Lost in the Dark

Watchtowers encircle us like a mystical ritual
Shadows lurk in the dark
The fire burns all with an irremovable mark
The man creeps from behind with not a peep
From rubber soles he stomps your feet
Inhale inhale his murky breath is stale
An assassin a mercenary he cares not about you
Only does he answer to the trapezoid moustache
Whom do they call supreme?
When he himself can’t fit in his own puzzle

He ought to be given a muzzle
To silence him for awhile
For the damage he caused
Burns all with an irremovable mark



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This article has 2 comments. Post your own!

Cool S. said...
Apr. 22, 2012 at 3:12 pm:

Great poem! I really found the imagery very appealing.

 

 
RecreateAnimation replied...
Apr. 22, 2012 at 3:15 pm :

Thank you! You're feedback is much appreciated!

 

 
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