Lawrence S. Pertillar
We shun those living.
And praise those dead.
We denounce the deeds the living do.
But yet when they die,
We lift their memories to be held high.
We excuse the ones we choose to do.
No matter what mistakes they make.
But it takes those who pass away from us,
To experience a forgiveness...
With a heart left within us to either ache,
We express feelings to have for others.
We sit to reminisce that which is missed.
Until another day comes,
To fake more impressions.
With a masquerading to charade.
And expect that done,
Hiding behind masks.
Believing time to us given,
Passes slowly through an hour glass.
To be repeated...
Each time grief is met to meet,
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Comments about this poem (Momentarily by Lawrence S. Pertillar )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
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Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
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