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Writing Black Acres [pg13]


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This is the first poem ive done in a long time, and, regrettably so...

Black Acres

The park of Black Acres
of makers, of takers
lays in the recess,
at rest, at rest
until the awakening,
the speaking, the freaking
takes the takers, the makers

The trees hear not their cry,
their sigh, their sigh
the water hears not their plight,
their fight, their might
the black clouds hear not their despair,
their nightmares, their frightmares
only can I hear their hopeless bind,
for they are crying, lieing
in my mind
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