Monday, November 15, 2004


Deadly sins commited in the past
return to  haunt this frail  short  lifetime.
In anima , the broodings  linger, warm
waiting to fester a pure uncertain heart.
Sensitive to something I can't control
pain attacks and burrows deep its talons,
some bird of prey that claws me from within
scraping my soul from the inside, out.
Each generation feels the tendency
and knows the fears, despite not knowing why..

These germs of hate are watered with our tears
we fight them off until the day we die..


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