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Kiera Price Poems
What's as kind as a child, Can be found in the wild, Treacherous like the ocean, Yet contained like a potion,
A life in a world of true freedom. Wouldn't that be perfect?
Here I stand, My weapon in hand. Rigid, tense and positioned to fight, To hold myself back takes all my might,
Feathers of Crystal
Dull throbs and constant aches, She's drowning in vast crimson lakes. A life shattered by hate, And driven by love.
Wings of Stone
She wants to fly, Fly away from her life. All she's done is lie, And have the worst of strife.
Tears of Blood
Bloody and broken, Her life is like a fake token. Useless and unwanted, Her heart is a pot of dirt, without a seed planted.
Comments about Kiera Price
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
What's as kind as a child,
Can be found in the wild,
Treacherous like the ocean,
Yet contained like a potion,
As gentle as a dove,
And isn't love?