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Unmended Anger

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The untorn thorn

Makes ruddy

Wounds muddy--

Puddling bloody

Death is the buddy of

Sickness not love

Thought--

Bereft.

Forgot--

Theft.

I'm not--

I've left.

 

The End
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Tad_Winslow You're currently reading the poem Unmended Anger, which was posted on Apr 29, 2009 by Tad_Winslow.

This is a solo poem.

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