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Last Line Standing
There was a time not so long ago,
I felt so afraid, so alone.
My voice echoed back on me
from barren walls I could not see.
My thoughts; those defining 'isms',
I flung to wind, and chance and wind;
who really cares what rolls inside my mind;
Invierno's inner wild side.
At end of day, or dawn, if you prefer,
we're all alone, like or not.
When grass grows hungry on our bones,
we only live through those who've not forgot.
The worth of this blip we spend
is measured by our funeral's friends;
how many showed to honour, mourn,
sagging shoulders proving sorrow borne?
And can we see (alive) what mark we've made?
No.
But oh, by casket hovering, creepy, ghostly played,
maybe not, but maybe so...
If it comes to pass and for you I show,
be true blue and let me know.
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