A CRY FOR FREEDOM © 2008

Each line upon my face

Is a sincere regret,

Marked in time, made austere,

That I cannot alter, not even in a post.

In despair, I contemplate the memory,

Where bitterness draws its trail,

For having memorised the taste of sorrow,

And lost, amid shadows, my own story.

But in the sincerity of regret,

There is a truth that never fades,

Even if the face bears torment,

The heart, gradually, still floods.

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