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How I Died
By Michael Manuel
Was my ears detached for when they say
the whispering wind calling to me?
Was my eyes closed in deep sleep of day
to a face coming forth to see?
Why, a life is more, or a life is less
for spirits to fly into hands.
Even though there is feeling of emptiness
Will my fire go into their hands?
Was my soul never to be in the light?
Walking through flat grounds.
My will weak as the dark of night,
A path with silent sounds.
Rotting body that is growing in stillness
Staring into its eyes!
A life is more, or a life is less
Staring into its eyes!
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