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Found Poetry 509

1/6/21

a steal? no, your lie
disciple of profane
with a morsel of intelligence
weaver of hate
thief of our sleep
they threatened senators
our great nation besieged
scent of blood and smoke
your fifteen of fame
turned to darkness
you threw a dart
but hit your own eye
cannot tear us apart
not surprised you tried

This poem was created from the King James Version of the Bible (KJV/KJB). Click here to get a King James Bible.

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