Black Heart

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Black Heart

When in the point or stream of time was it?
What or whom took over?
What are these feelings of loss that feel like the life blood of me?
Why can’t I forget the faces that make my job hard?
I don’t have enough control to finish the task at hand.
Should not even be here; well I am that’s what I do the feeling come than I take over.
Let take that drink and you will forget; not me my friend. All of this; it’s what I do best.
No times for tears drink up and let’s settle old accounts.
The things I do for you; on my side there is no pain just sweet release. Trust!
It’s as easy as the sun passing by the noon day sky a moment of pure black and utter brilliance intertwined.

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Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

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