Darlin’s Hand

Many traps are hidden by the darkened path ahead,

Masked by murky vision, landing on the dead,

Whispers of delusions are spoken from the grave,

In a growling voice, ” His soul can not be saved!”

What about my angel, who’s laying six feet over?

Weeping from above, tear drops met the  ground,

Soaking in the solid earth with love and heartfelt sorrow.

The innocence she carried, Her warmth I do embrace,

Glared above with a tired frown, a whisper softly traveled.

Is he somewhere safe?

Peacefulness fell over her, surrendered to his fate.

 

 

 

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