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Those frivolous faces grow and grin

Speaking foreign tongues to win our hearts

With the distinct honor of an hours race

Stepping down to break the haste in shattering

Laughter that cuts my veins, spilling life away

Now slain as such spirits were in their prime, 

Marring dusted bottles of bitter wine, to be raised 

In a frightening toast, of what is to become the

Most imminent sign of our destruction. 

Created: Jul 07, 2012

Tags: sacrifice, poem, words, writing, freeword, poetry, drabble

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