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Life In The Hands Of A Poet
the look in his eyes was priceless,
sadness and fear over flowing his body,
only a dropp of life left,
'can i make it? '
he looked at me as if he could see me,
draining his power, his life,
as if i were a black hole, feeding on his soul,
smothered in black smoke he crawls along the blood red floor,
screaming, begging, pleading,
frozen with fear he stands,
stares into the light deep in thought,
pounding with emotion,
'what have i done? '
the icy feeling crawls up and down his spine like a spider on its web,
shriveled, nearly dead,