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Below an iron mountain,
rusty veins of endless age
beat with footsteps, constant,
a reminder of the ancient days.
Such a wondrous miracle
now bastardized, defiled -
Does half a million dollars
make it really so worthwhile?
A simple passer-by can tell
the filth will slowly crack,
those living near must stay clear
of the mountain's broken back.
Hammer, axe, by mortal hands,
what once was right is gone;
for now, upon this barren land,
lies nothing but a gun.
Comments (1 Comments)
- OoXSaraMonsterXoO - 03/19/2009
- favorited =] 5/5! this is excellent. i felt something when i read it. rate and comment some of my poetry?
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