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From the Grave
With the camouflage of patience, of peace in raging storm
the disguise of cool demeanor; iron clad self-control
the pretense of blissful living, disregard for what may come
and feigning cool and steady like one taking a stroll
I am wretched and deserted though I act distant and cold
I wallow in loneliness when I crave someone to hold
I years for warm connections, if the truth is ever told;
I want a living lover - just someone to enfold
Though needless to desire that which I may never have
it's harmless to mention aloud to all those that I serve
I am the one whose heart you've bored with so many a holes
It's me, death has furnished with many broken souls
© Coral Pearl
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