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HUNTING SOULS

The platinum fog surrounds reality’s vision
From life going about its simple disposition.
The echo of death-screams
Can only be heard
While awaiting for light to give back day in reverse.

Death likes to work in the shadows
Using the shrowd
While firing lustrous tipped arrows.

The lost souls have nowhere to hide
As life can’t see the dark between the living-disguise.
A night filled wi...

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