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Pasts Forgotten



The burn grows cold,
the rush gone,
watery graves pour over cemetary gates,
resting easy are the restless,
no longer seeing through murky eyes.

A verse burns bright,
the cold done,
frozen hearts unbind enrapturing fates,
faulting minds of the faultless,
eyes reciting hymns of pasts forgotten.
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Submitted on March 20, 2011

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