The Hour Grows Late.

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The Hour Grows Late.

Born through lust,
Forced to hate,
The night grows dark,
The hour grows late.
The shadows begin to swing and sway,
These unseen  voices,
Begin to taunt and play.
The darkness quickly closing in,
My life of servitude,
Shall soon begin.
The sins I have committed,
The truth now omitted.
My screams falling on deaf ears,
I am doomed to walk in unlife the rest of my years.
Born through lust,
Forced to hate,
The night grows dark,
The hour grows late.


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Poetry comes nearer to vital truth than history.

Plato (BC 427-BC 347) Greek philosopher.

strahd21313’s Poems (7)

Title Comments
Title Comments
Lost within myself. 0
Sinfull Pleasures 0
My Sweet Disease. 1
The Sins Of The Flesh. 1
Death's Golden Ticket, My Last Token. 1
The Hour Grows Late. 0
My Final Breath. 1