Followers - Poem by Randall Snapp
Standing in the shadows looking for the master,
silant cry's from within, Turmoil of weakness.
The mirrow has many faces, which one's your's? Followers
laugh like the deaf and blind, dead at birth with no voice.
Raised to follow the masters call, when will you die?
Dungions are filled with tortured souls, with eye's of blackness.
Your weak and afraid, who will pay the price? Fealings of
malice reaches your grave, You'll never be free.
Masters of disguise's you wait for the handlers direction,
you fail like a wimp. The sad offspring of a handler,
waiting to win. The answers you seek are found in
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