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| Some People They wash themselves in rivers of shame, Front row tears calling out God's name. They turn off and on like a well-tuned machine. Some people will never come clean. One life is hard enough, Two is just plain tough. Lies become fear, then Fear becomes a game. Once the line is crossed They must eternally remain. In the quagmire of their souls, Secrets are concealed, Floating to the surface, Devouring all that was real. With poise and practice, They overlook pain, Like kids playing in a sandbox, Failing to notice the rain. Innocence tainted, Consciousness burned, Hook baited, They have swallowed the worm. Compassion is as stagnant As what's left of their dreams. Some people will never come clean. Posted 1/15/02 |
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| Diary of Poems by Mark Allen Cole |
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Never Satisfied Heroic Ilium Haloes Sacred city smell Routes are concealed To your Unmitigated Hell. Tell me you know no fear, that's a lie! Standing there alone, Never satisfied. Differentiate all light From the darkness In which you hide. Watch Treasures hoarded Wither in a sigh. What does it take To enlighten your mind? What will it take? Is it timed? Propelling through society Like swimming against a tide. Will you drown in prosperity Never Satisfied? Posted 1/15/02 |
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