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Jake Barnard Poem
A cold chill run up your spinal cord.
Your at a lost of breath, your face truns pale white.
tears start to roll.
The dark figure stand before you. He gazes right into your soul.
You can't hide it. He see right throw the web of lies, you made as the dirt.
An the lives you took is like the box, on which will be your resting place.
A cold chill runs down your spinal cord.
I place my hardballer to your head, an slowly pull the trigger.
Your life is at an end.
But it will never bring her back. her face burns into my retina.
A moment in my life, i'll relive every time i lie my head down to sleep.
that tragic night where i lost her forever.
Takin by a drunk man.........
A cold chill runs up my spinal cord.
Her screams for help, burned in my mind like a brand from a rancher.
The helplessness the heated glass.
You payed with your life. But my love is in the box.
Copyright © Jake Barnard | Year Posted 2011
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Details |
Jake Barnard Poem
Dry cracked lips, the swal of heat ingolfs my body.
Like being burn alive in this desert wasteland.
the sweat drips from my plams an mixs with the blood of killers.
regret for what i have done.
The somber walk to my barracks hanging my head low.
I am dead now reborn baptised by fire a man no one back home would know.
freedom payed in the blood of soldiers.
Every night i take down my hat of green to pary for the fallin.
asking them for there forgiveness, the regret i did'nt die with my brothers.
They call to me in my dreams, hold on, just hold on they say with such hopefullness.
the return is a revival, but to see what is become of my home. A knoch in my stoach.
The hate the disregard for the rights of man. No more freedom to be had, my friends my
brothers died for nothing.
Copyright © Jake Barnard | Year Posted 2011
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