|"The Sketch" by Victorio C. Edades|
Along with the squall came hitherto; a man
Unscathed from combat, unabashed by sorrow, dry by the rain
Make no guess, for he is as brave as can be,
Or at least on what and how the eyes can see.
You see, behind the face lies yonder
The remains; a corpse, cadaver
Of a man who was once living
Yet he speaks still, still he laughs
Still can he smile, jokes he can utter
But little did most know what he did mutter
To and upon himself; the bleak, blank, hollow cadaver
Which remains of his former self, if it did even matter.
For it takes an ample amount of time
Patience and the precision of a mime
For two souls to intertwine and combine
Yet for all it to be gone, takes only a step in a mine
"Fate," said he "is much more than hope and hoping
Harsher than my neck on a rope swing
No, what burns is that I am still holding
To that one statement, your word, from which I am dying
Though this, I see can be you lying, I am still waiting."
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