Truth

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  • Death

    Truth

    I am a lost soul,
    standing alone.
    Time is running out,
    but I am still holding on.
    This is the real me; not willing to give up,
    even though I have nowhere to go.
    Within one's eyes,
    it is mine, not anybody else's fault.
    I remember feeling zoned,
    surrounded by empty space.
    As I take one last look,
    my memory is fading.
    The innocence is no longer there
    as I pray for stability, or eternal rest.
    I long for completion,
    or that hidden treasure.
    The desire is out of control as I head for departure,
    this is not my dream world.

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    If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.

    Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) American poet.

    angelbebe’s Poems (2)

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