Last Hope

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April 25, 2011 This is me mourning my premature awareness for life and maturity.

Last Hope

I feel I've grown much too fast.
My childhood too short did last.
I saw death and misery
early in elementary.
Picked on, laughed at, left behind
-a shy child stuck in her mind.
And so hard did I believe
I'd become all I can conceive.
Now I feel I've reached the end.
I am nothing. I've accomplished naught.
The fires of Hell must be so hot.
Yet I cannot forfeit my little hope
that a little longer with me He'll cope.

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Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

SecretAngel3’s Poems (41)

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