hands that run have seen more then i to this day
run acros a face that dosent feel that way
a single tear runs down that face
falling down to only to be cought be a browened shoe lace,
shoes that have trudged through mud, grim, and dirt
to the point where they burst with hurt.

blood had been spilled where he stood.
this blood had long scinse gone for it happeened in his childhood
were he stood today once laid his mother
for war had torn her from him like so many otheres.
he layed a boca of daisys down
and said ' her favrates...' and then frowns.
he then slowly turned around and left her behind
as the rain began to fall in his mind.

by slick shades

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