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She stands a witness to history's changes And winces at corrupted exchanges The howls of her children burn her ears As liberty bursts into tears Unable to fight back; unable to save
Alas; woe to my eyes--    Let them not see.   The object of my affection   Cares not of me.  
Word after word
With what westward fancy froze Amongst the lengthy lines of prose But what did perchance arose  But a rose?   A rose so sweet with yonder yore Fraught with flights of fancy & more
  There is always a balanced A pretender A giver A fighter A lover Certainly Uncertain The paradox of a forgotten tomorrow and a foretold yesterday Can’t exude the pain, the relapse or fear
Along a lost dream, He grieves the loss of reality. And feigns forgiveness to the dry bones Of humanity. Society and it’s pillars Hierarchy of wisdom and folly: The child, the woman, the man.
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