The Poets of Greatness
Saturday, 21 April 2012
What He Was/Is/Will Be
He used to draw,
He used to write,
He used to laugh,
He loved the light.
Now he’s nothing,
Hidden in the dark,
Crying with pain,
His back in an arc.
He will be happy,
He will be sad,
But until then,
He’s nothing but bad.
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