Was it Me?
Did I, dear Lord, Please tell me was it me
That caused this boy, my son, defective be?
Was it some sin or sins that I let grow
That caused his arms, his legs, his heart, to go?
Was it me?
Did I, dear Lord, please tell me was it me
That caused Sir Gower to display a gait
That stumbles, tumbles, crumbles, and falls strait,
While trying to run with others his age?
Was it me?
A loving child, with kisses free given.
Eyes Blue, hair blond; cheeks dimpled with rare frown,
Not knowing that his sentence is a life
Immobile, and fraught with early decay.
Was it me?
What shall I say dear Lord when that time comes
For questions ask'd, fears expressed with tear
Torrents flowing from azure pain fill'd eyes?
Shall I tell my son, while I weep as well,
It Was me?
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by Tom Mcmurray
The cold and lonely wasted worn
forgotten urchins of the night,
now suffer spiteful, hurtful scorn;
still punished for their
HOUSE OF PAIN
Welcome to my house of pain
I'd let you in but you'd go insane.
Loneliness, envy, bitterness and anger
Are
Misery.
In a world where restless spirits dwell
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But no tale ended as terribly
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Emptiness
I cry when I am alone.
My heart is filled with sadness;
I take on a new tone.
Why can't I put a stop to this madness?
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by Isaiah Paul
Was it Me?
Did I, dear Lord, Please tell me was it me
That caused this boy, my son, defective be?
Was it some sin or sins that
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Poetry: Misery
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