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by Metusela

Embody me with your caress

whisper your curse over the battle field

let them appear

wounded shot harmless

please let the story tellers reappear

with tales of survival

The children endure poisenous pressure

their laughter drowned in heavy artillery

their small hands will be clearing the ruins  digging new graves

they will be the story tellers of tomorrow

set them free


© Metusela 2011


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