A Ballad for Death

A compilation of the first 500 poems I ever wrote.
I write in my free time accross different styles and themes, sometimes there are reasons to what I write and sometimes there are not, but I always try to follow my inspiration.
Enjoy.

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415. Face

This morning when he looked

In the mirror he saw

Something that was crooked,

Something evilly raw,

It wasn’t in the stare

Nor in the small shy smile,

– He never though his style

To let it somehow scare

Him oh so profoundly –

Rather something other,

Something that brought about

Uncertainty and doubt,

Not that it did bother

For he went candidly.

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