To a Wasted Life
Here is to the end, a place we must all go.
To the long narrative that went on and on
and now is gone.
The songs the dreams and all the things
that came and went in-between,
are but dust now blow carelessly by the breeze.
Your eyes filled with the color of your many
lies now turned gray by our love
that has now died.
To what comes after!
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Comments about this poem (To a Wasted Life by David Blake )
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