Is It Poetry
Nine Lives Aren't Enough
I have stumbled and walked blindly through this life
and what is less than that to love it even more.
To create more tears in laughter than sad tears.
There is no room for ghosts no room for death no room for doubt
in faith for those sad years.
Never so indifferent, I look up to to see the twinkle in the skies.
The stars and how they wonder in the eyes of each lost child.
Or as the old should never be, growing old does not suit me.
You may have heard my last words as I whisper, Dear.
To you I leave my one last smile, when you smiled at me.
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Comments about this poem (Nine Lives Aren't Enough by Is It Poetry )
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
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