The Lost

Their souls are screaming,
Screaming for one to hear,
But no one is there.
The light evaporates the words;
The ground inhales thier energy,
The energy of thier being
Which makes thier images,
Which creates thier screams,
And makes the breeze,
That rustles the winter leaves.
They want to be heard;
They want thier word back,
But they can not acheive it.
They want people to listen
To thier lives,
But in the sun,
None will hear.

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