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sad poetry

i am a woman
in all things not spoken of
we who stood
i love my hour of wind and light
tripping up, falling down
the hypocritic days
but alas, just dreams
that year
dark-eyed
along a river-side
within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars
when the hours of day are numbered
the shadows of the ships

 



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