Left Behind

It’s not the fist that stings

When the boxing bell rings

Too numb to feel the beating


The face that breaks

When the heart gently aches

Composer completely fails


The tipped back flask

Fuels the liquid mask

Unable to bear the sorrow


Heels on the edge

Tumble over the ledge

Sins written on asphalt


Muddy dark waters

Two grieving daughters

A black carriage to get them home


Death quiet house

No more crying or shouts

Only rot and broken windows

4 thoughts on “Left Behind

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