Wounds Of Life - Poem by Paul McAnaney
The words now flow freely
And consistently from
The wounds of life,
Like the blood within our veins
Full of warmth and meaning
Till the day our heart fails to beat,
Till he day red becomes the colour of
The streets beneath our tired feet.
Until the day comes when the words grow
Cold and silent like the people they encapsulate
For all are doomed to the same meaningless fate!
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You