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Poetry

The Death of Time

I mourn for our our future.

The death of our dreams

And what our life should be.

A black veil conceals the wedding aisle,

A closed casket suffocates the giggles of our unborn kids.

Names picked out;

Beginning, middle, and end

All wash away written in the sand.

I mourn for our future

Because that is no longer the one we have to look forward to.

They say a pregnant woman’s child comes out like the person she most hates.

With superstition and genetic’s partnership far from my corner I can’t help but say,

Three weddings and funeral… I’d rather have no wedding, yet a funeral for a future that no longer awaits.

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