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Sun

When the sun rises,
We fall to the ground,
Blood staining our hands,
Murders from the past,
Haunt us day by day,
Nothing we do seems to help,
Our internal decay,
As blood falls to the floor,
Death surrounds us like a broken dream,
Still we remain,

Praying the deaths are fake,
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Poet Dragon 14 April 2006

It's hard to tell if this is true or made up by a mind that's blue but still a read it was to me and one that I was glad to see

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