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Originally posted by Darkblade71
reply to post by obnoxiouschick
The pain that bind you,
the chains too.
Things that wear you down,
things that make you frown.
The age that cracks your face,
unnatural aging has taken place.
A lifetime of pain and heartache,
Self medicating for peace of mind sake.
Thoughts that drift from rage to depression,
words that say utter obsession.
Darkness that looms like a blanket in the mind,
brings you back to things that will bind.
Unable to slip from the dark embrace,
The tears of sorrow roll down your face.
They follow a pattern like rivers of tears,
releasing for a moment all the pain and fears.
Poetry is like spells, chants, and magic. If you believe in those things.
Originally posted by Darkblade71
reply to post by obnoxiouschick
Oh, I believe it, I am one of those people.
Well, not all of the time, but if they catch me on a bad day or a day where I am being a smart-ass, they just dunno what they are going to get.
k, sorry, back on topic....
Originally posted by Darkblade71
I wrote this one a long time ago, surprised I still remember it.
love is darkness,
filled with light.
It is wrong, yet oh so right.
Love can make you or break you,
love can destroy or rebuild.
Over love many have been born,
and over love many have been killed.