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Death. (standard:poetry, 57 words)
Author: Anya LaneAdded: Sep 15 2002Views/Reads: 1720/0Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Death is the title and the subject of this poem.
 



It whispers with an unheard voice, 

It pulls with unfelt hands, 

It does its job with an unseen knife, 

Death takes us by surprise, 

Its whispers, though unheard, catches our attention, 

Its hands, though unfelt, draws us nearer, 

And its knife, though not real, takes us in the end, 

Death is unheard, unfelt, but certainly not unreal! 


   


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