A Faceless Figure

The shingles of a once battered life
come briskly down a
windy street only to have its boundaries met for a dead end
A scrap of ones feeling left behind from
A once jubilant daytime
I now have an isolated suspicion of how it all must of been
In the era of a little ones eyes
A cold chest, an unbeated breath
Some uneasy feeling I can’t retrace
But only an eternity I have to feel
Whats left of a doghounds life
Amoung the crowd of unwanted souls
I stand unattended to the remainder of the world
in the distance was something i couldn’t reach, a faceless figure
Too far

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