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Poems and Photographs

Battle scars
 
He wrought in the dull grey days,
but with nightfall,
his candle was bright with battle flame. 
 
Through a haze of  of smoke, 
he shared his scars,
the flicking flame burns low. 
 
Yet with all that has happened, 
he stands tall,
face to face,
head on head,
with life. 

 

01

Living Poor in the Richest City 
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