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  • Bonafide Voices

Die a Little Every Day

Mathew Thomas

How many deaths have I died,

I lost count,

With promises unkept,

Where the politics of speech,

And the forked tongue whispers,

Naked lies,

Sunrise gives way to sunset,

And these days,

Death roams the streets at night,

Dressed in white,

Life and death are twins,

But death is overbearing in these times,

The cemeteries are full,

And the dead wait in queue,

Pyres burn the hearth at home,

The nights are endless,

Grief covers the sky,

And paints the night in grey,

I hear the fading voices of children,

Whose fathers were lost,

To promises past,

The living no longer live,

But die a little every day.

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