Age

In times own outcast, 
memories that scorn, 
from tears that tasted of blood, 
and lives forever torn. 
Wanting to forget, 
whats held inside, 
because everything becomes, 
what has always lied. 
And then it waits, 
for its chance to attack, 
hitting you with everything, 
that goodness lacks. 
A endless gasp, 
breathless and cold, 
you suddenly realize, 
yes...you are old.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2011

Poem

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Arteaga Avatar
March 10, 2011 at 10:41 PM
uhg that's what I fear the most aging....and aliens...but i'm wierd that way...anywho you're really good at rhyming your poems sir wicked aawesome :D (ja dbl a)
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