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A closet of broken dreams

I live in a closet of broken dreams ,
all what I can hear are my screams ,
I want this place should be lighted up by sunbeams

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—–For Henry Chinaski

Murky cobbled alleys
Empty abattoir streets
The skyline burns
With the setting sun
But on I trudge

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The Call to War

This is a poem i wrote.

Oh, the dreaded call to war

I had a flashback from Iraq

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In My Eyes

Damn those rainy days,
with the tears dripping down my face,
trying to stop them in so many complicated ways,
sometimes I find myself in a competitive race.
My happiness is at the finish line in this case,
Smiling through my hearts what I need to embrace,
To me the American Justice System is such a disgrace.
The criminals are the shoes and the court workers are the lace,
their skipping straight to homerun from the 1st base.
Thats what money does to judges, lawyers, and cops, it just changes your place,
When I remember how it all is, I feel like my mind has this big blank space.
I dont even understand how they can show their face,
Our trust in them Ive already defaced.

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