Friday, May 20, 2011

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There is a place
where I come from,
where I took my first steps
A yellow house faces the evening sun
daring it
to sip through its thick walls
The birds, the trees,
and the grass below
can never match this perfect stone.
Who built it?
Mr. J.D
A man I knew more than just a father
He was also my friend
He saw to it
that I never cried
He saw to it
that I desired nothing more
The stars, the moon
and the skies above
have never seen this perfect love
I curse this world,
I curse this place
For this man is no more.

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