Poem By Heather Vance

He shows up everywhere waiting
When someone is ill he is there waiting
When someone is hurt he is there waiting
Waiting for that person to let go

Death has no true face or any true name
He is only just death
There to collect the souls
Of those who are done living

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Time has passed and the wound remains the same
Open with heartache and feeling of loss
I sit and wonder who all I can blame
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I watch out my window, its winter now
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Sometimes I wish to just run and hide