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Ocelot's Poetry and Songs

 Empty Shell
Lord, what you ask;
is it so hard to do?

Just to die to myself,
and to live just for you.

Emotion's frail grasp
tries to choke love away,

as the self, fading fast,
fails to die every day.

In the silence of night
I can still hear the light

telling me that my self
will must die.

Self will's heart still beating,
brings death's hand to fleeting.

Pride leaving a lone empty shell.
Kevin Metcalf

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