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so all we hear today is cannons’ boom
their echo forms our terrible surround
for this whole century the world’s a tomb

it isn’t that we just ran out of room
for good intentions our shots will redound
so all we hear today is cannons’ boom

from shore to shore and the explosives’ bloom
accompanied by their pervading sound
for this whole century the world’s a tomb

though skies are sunny we are cast in gloom
parents and children thrown into the mound
so all we hear today is cannons’ boom

perhaps in time some scholar will exhume
the reason why we all now lie in ground
for this whole century the world’s a tomb

and every hope has fallen down to doom
while goodness trust and honesty are bound
so all we hear today is cannons’ boom
for this whole century the world’s a tomb


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To truly maybe ever really feel,
Like the world has been spinning all around,
Where there’s always a little of a tilt,
So that you can’t tell which is up or down,
Even your world seems to always stager,
You feel as if you’re no longer moving,
As it feels like you’re going under,
And though you honestly all ready feel,
As if your soul is very close to go,
While inhaling your very last, last meal,
And it is as if you silently know,
That your souls ending time is nearly here,
As Death quietly whispers in your ear.
An itamic poem...
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