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I tread the alley of muted sighs.
It is the site of which all hope dies.
Its walls are coated with blood of all.
It harbors creatures; they e'er crawl.
I collapse at the sound of their cries.

I look at the walls' height and malice;
It is a dark and bloody palace.
Its echoes e'er tear the soul apart.
It uses our blood to paint its art.
I drink from this blood with a chalice.

I e'er smell the stench of the living;
It crosses the air, unforgiving.
Its creatures tread not knowing its face.
It has a visage to e'er disgrace.
I stare into this face and feel sting.

I know deep down whom these creatures are.
It does not escape me; it's a scar.
Its shape knows these creatures as does me;
It is the sprawl of humanity.
I e'er know that this path stretches far.

I leave this palace, I leave these cries.
It drips with blood and drips with coldness.
Its walls, pregnable to no boldness.
It is the site of which all hope dies.
I tread the alley of muted sighs.
A rather somber poem I wrote. I must say, I'm extremely intrigued with what I whipped up! :)
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Submitted on
August 26, 2009
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