My mosaic poem is as follows:
CRUSHED by: valerie ng
Thirty thousand years ago,
Each morning, it was her face that replaced the darkness
For love.
As he defeated--dying--
He was swallowing raindrops.
But I laugh,
I am not cruel, only truthful--
With torn and bleeding hearts, we smiled.
and this is what i love about poetry... where is the sense in this? oh
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