Walking Through Your Fire
It was all getting old
These endless things
Another year here: misery....
Yet this would divert nor appease
Her cold coming down ? A world in lost
Must we endure another day; these,
Chains their lies truth's, pain! Where is mercy ?
Thousands of years; his grave: slaves, she sings
While tears form our eyes; as skirting round about, nothing.
Copyright © Rachel St.Cross | Year Posted 2015
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