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Days go by, slowly I die, I learn people lie.
Try to grab hold, as trees turn gold, I'm scared to get old.
As I cry, and try and try, to buy more time, I slowly die.
Everyday, I fall; I start to feel small.
I try to fly, but crumble each try;
I'm tired, but keep asking why.
With each bite, a painful fight,
I'm scared of the new height; this may be my last night.
A right for the light, yet with all my might, I lose the fight.
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ReplyI appreciate your comment, I am ok. I write to express all my feelings, so that I can move past them. It is a way to speak without speaking. Ironically, this poem was originally to be a song. Thank you for your concern.
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