A slave to demons,
they crack the whip,
They take what little life I have away from me,
They do as they please... With whom ever they need...
...
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'just lie my sword upon the ground, lower my shield, let one final strike, take the life I do not own, ' You have become Junior Walt Whitman for poet for his death and nature poems. I like the power of you that exploded like nuclear bomb.. R a glossing fire ball! How can u store that much energy young poetess!
And so the ageless battle between good and evil, continues. This is powerful writing that I want to pick up my sword and fight right beside you. Kill all those damned souls and demons...
this poem is so scary to even read, what are you doing right now, how did you come up with such a frightening poem as the one that i'm reading right now?