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A Wretch

Standing by the graveside, straps lower you down. I glance towards heavens high, where solace seems to frown. Broken and bewildered, my soul has turned to stone. I cannot accept mortality, whilst denial fills my own. Sinking into grief so deep, loves price, for being born. Death I curse and spit at thee, A rancid rose bears thy thorn. If come a day, when darkness burns, Ill stoke the fire, in mourn you’ve borne. By David Kavanagh.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2020




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Date: 11/12/2020 3:26:00 PM
Fuel for thought
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Kavanagh  Avatar
David Kavanagh
Date: 11/15/2020 2:43:00 PM
Sure is Christopher maybe I’m the one taking a jibe at the misery death leaves in its wake
Flaherty Avatar
Christopher Flaherty
Date: 11/15/2020 11:24:00 AM
Not or never a jibe David Merely pointing out as you did isn't Thought not the fuel that stokes the fire itself
Kavanagh  Avatar
David Kavanagh
Date: 11/13/2020 6:37:00 AM
If only Christopher, like that jibe, cheers David

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