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Death unbeatable

March 18, 2017

the vultures pick on the corpse of the dead and gone

there is no sweet sound or birdsong,

to come from these hideous creatures,

they possess no redeeming features.

Nothing can put it to right,

neither silent darkness, nor noisy light.

It’s pure chaos, it’s hell without end.

It’s useless to otherwise pretend.

 

 

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From → Poetry

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