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William Burney Poem
A lone wolf rising in ashes of ancient writings planting her crop. Forged in blood, salty sweat, and ink some say related to iron ore rock. Some tried modeling this wolf but her keen sense kept a dreaded clock. A world can only hold one mold. Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock
Copyright © William Burney | Year Posted 2018
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William Burney Poem
In the Reflections that each held my deepest thoughts that come to Me. An While every month She'd faithfully clean the window of glass for those brilliantly green leaves. And as I stare from in that cold room facing that looming Ol’ tree. The leaves share their secrets only to fall after the spring. So why must the memories scar so deeply so true. She answered its Behind the window with the Reflections of a soul that belongs to You
Copyright © William Burney | Year Posted 2018
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William Burney Poem
Seaming in a sewing room, earning his copper coins in twos. With patterns, tools, & spools, fast pace so hard to do. Rusty fans that are always frozen, feed dog staying broken with a boss who's constantly smoking fine Cuban cigars. Just another day at Sweat Shop Bazaar.
Copyright © William Burney | Year Posted 2018
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William Burney Poem
Always is a word etched inside his mind. Hearing it read in a chapter once of loathing no compromise. In the book of lies now wrapped in salty hide that welped his bare skin to bone. A empty promise to love but then soon came a white dove who is now the lovely new owner.
Copyright © William Burney | Year Posted 2018
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