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wake in the drab
the heartdrub deep
and finger through the ashes
coating the long hair
next the face
the shirt



when you ever thought it was enough

the merrirment
runs off
hang about the old grounds
a ghost
singing the songs
while the bridges burn
when will anyone learn
or does it matter

will their wings carry
them aloft
their becon halos
showing them the way

the windows are dirty
havent bathed in weeks
nor eaten in days

buried in the ashes
falling in my room
where winter soon
will free the darkness
and lighten up the
silence of the fall
the snowflakes
the release

soft and tender
to null and chill
the strikes and
aches the pain
that tears deep
the heart that
hoped and weeped

walk like a wingless
dark and black
the fierce eyes
searching souls

the Lost Music
blazing from the
radio on a pocket
the wrap around
shades hiding
hiding eyes
hiding sadness
hiding anger

soothing the hurt
like a thorn pulled
the bright red
shinning in the
cold sun

dying alive
under the terse

losing everything
to win it all



Editing stage: 


Sad but honest account of what i assume is the end of a way of life, time marching on like the home wrecker it can be. Regards Roscoe....

Roscoe Llane,

Religion will rip your faith off, and return
for the mask of disbelief that's left.

doll house idealism

turned to a club house
dance hall
end of mystery and emporium of

compare Love
a new different love
like apocalypse...
But a beautiful one

endings are always the
greatest road of beginning...

thank U!

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