The Loss Of An Unknown

June 27, 2013

Looks like I'm a soldier,

Heaven knows I'm not a saint,

I awaken

Tear myself out of bed,

Each day defiant as the last.

Days vanish.

I determine ways to disappear again.

Like contesting fires,,,

God knows I'm bound to burn,

Yes, friend,

I've been fortunate.

Could I question one thing?

How do I make it all okay?

Something wrong with this poem?

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