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suicide poetry

the sky
she must go back, she said
listen to the sounding sea
high walls and huge
and so it goes
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
gloom
the ships are lying in the bay
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
world that changes under my hand
friend, whose smile has come to be
the ancient songs
stay no more

 



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