Forlorn Poem by Arik Fletcher
Forlorn
He stands in cold reflection,
a statue in the night,
his life naught but deception,
with no escape in sight.
He has no moral compass,
no inner voice to guide,
his heart knows only darkness,
there is no love inside.
He feels the shadows calling,
each whisper soft and sweet,
his body slowly falling,
just dust beneath their feet.
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4/26/2024 7:35:42 AM # 1.0.0.1119
