So many stories around you,
Some untold but true,
some are hidden mysteries and clues,
Some colourless some blues
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Chains that swine one by one,
Hatred or love, infested to everyone,
Agony or care, ruins of no one,
Never it worsens,
...
They rise to fight, fall to will of thee,
No witnness no light, No reason no fight,
From Bloodshed to fuel, the selfless to their tomb.
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From whom will you reflect where there is no sun left,
From who will you get love from when there is no admirer to left,
Alone will you be in the void above?
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Born I was to be old,
And for to die somewhere,
After that in the mould,
Ling for to lie here,
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They gape at their page of life,
Every day just went by,
There fate at ether or hellhounds on them,
Nothing too much nothing too less.
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Love is a life, live it
Love is a thought, express it
Love is a commitment, fulfil it,
Love is a drag, dare it,
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Lush was life there and once it was,
Who came there, was fate to miserable,
Fountains of light reacting,
And the shades of love everywhere,
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The art of poetry is love but not driven by love,
It defines what heart and think and where the mind could feel.
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