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Conqueror of Flesh no kind touch, this dead body. stone-breath signals the spirit is gone, returned to dust. a millionth of a second this soul walked the earth; falling short of life by a fractioned inch of flesh; clinging to eternity, the umbilical cord of faith it's only hope. © 7/05/2000 by Donna Saulsman Friedrichs |
Additional Notes:
I am not sure if the punctuatipon in this poem is correct.
I did the best I could to help you find the pause's and stops.
Any help would be appreciated.
thanks for reading. No capitals is intentional.
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