Excess Pain

Poetry Project #3

Tears fall from eyes of the dead,

Leaving streaks of crimson red.

Dripping, making a final score,

Before splashing to the floor.

We look down and we all see,

A puddle formed of memories.

We see our past and what was done,

Not what is now and has become.

What will we do with all this pain?

Seek our comfort from the rain?

When dark clouds will fill the skies,

That is when we’ll ask our why’s?

What will we do when we smile?

Try it on for an hours trial?

We need to mark our Devil’s face,

From his eyes, our fear we’ll erase.

~1999 (age 15/16)

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